


Bunnanunê

by ArabellaFaith



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Ending, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Eventual Smut, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Return to Erebor, Thorin Oakenshield Lives, Top Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-22 03:44:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 48,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14300043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArabellaFaith/pseuds/ArabellaFaith
Summary: Under the arkenstone's thrall, Thorin did not ride out to the battle of five armies. But an explosion collapsed half the mountain, and with Fili and Kili slain defeating Azog, so ended the line of Durin.  Or that is what was believed.Two years later, Gandalf comes to tell Bilbo that there are rumors of a beast living in the ruins of the mountain. Could it be that Thorin survived the collapse? If he did, will there be anything left of his soul for Bilbo to save?





	1. Chapter 1

Bunnanunê

 

Prolog

 

In the first days of Ea, Morgoth, the Great Foe, made his home deep within the ground.  His fortress was far in the north, but he and his servants dug many tunnels spreading widely beneath Middle Earth.  Everything they touched became tainted with their wickedness. Morgoth took great pleasure in turning the things the gods had created into vessels for evil.  In the heart of the mountains that Mahal’s children made their home, Morgoth found great jewels that had been placed there, gifts for the dwarves. With delight, Morgoth defiled them, filling them with his malevolence.

 

When Morgoth was finally undone and his strongholds broken, much of his power left the world.  The insidious light in those jewels dimmed forever. One, however, remained. It slept, dormant in the earth, waiting to be uncovered.

  
  
  


Chapter One

  
  


Bilbo had come to despise thunderstorms in the two years since he’d returned from his adventuring.  It seemed like a strange thing to be afraid of, considering all the horrors he’d faced on his quest to Erebor - but there are many different types of fear.  Bilbo would have gladly faced down an entire pack of orcs rather than huddle in his chair waiting for the inevitable panic that a thunderstorm brought on.

 

Each crash sounded like an explosion.  Like  _ the _ explosion.  The one that had brought down half the Lonely Mountain, and snuffed out the life of the dwarf Bilbo had been coming to love.  

 

Each storm brought Bilbo right back to the battlefield, fighting alongside Fili, Kili, and the rest of the company that had defied Thorin’s orders and joined the battle.  He would be facing down Azog once again, the dwarf princes at his side, the very moment that the explosion shook the ground. He would be standing there as they watched, horrified, while the home they had come so far to regain collapsed in on itself.  Then Azog would use their distraction to his advantage and mortally wound Fili and Kili both before he was finally brought down. Bilbo would once again be able to do no more than watch as the last of the line of Durin was ended in the echo of that blast.

 

Bilbo always tried to console himself that Fili and Kili had gone together, the way they would have wanted.  It helped, too, that Dain had rallied the rest of the dwarves. He considered the mountain and the treasure within cursed, but once the dead had been laid to rest he had tempted his people with the possibility of trying to reclaim Moria.  Content with the defeat of Smaug, not a single dwarf had protested the decision to abandon Erebor and return to the Iron Hills. Not even the members of the company.

 

Even with those small comforts, though, Bilbo was always heartsick when he was reminded of the battle.  Because one dwarf had not been slain in battle or reunited with his kin. There had been no glory or redemption for the King under the Mountain.  No, Thorin had died alone, twisted with dragonsickness. 

 

Bilbo couldn’t even really be sure how he’d died.  Had be been crushed in the initial explosion? Suffocated in the rubble?  Trapped in one of the later collapses, deep with the mountain where no sunlight could reach?  Bilbo wasn’t sure he could handle knowing, but not knowing was somehow worse.

 

Outside, the thunder boomed again, and Bilbo sank further into his chair by the fire.  He tried to force himself to think about something, anything, other than that terrible day.

 

As if to taunt him, his mind turned to another rainy night, this one in Laketown before the company had climbed the mountain.  To the night that Bilbo had been trying to herd twelve drunken dwarves to their rooms after a feast, and the last one had pulled him back after Bilbo had urged him through his door.  To the one liquor soaked kiss he’d shared with Thorin. To the hope that had bloomed in Bilbo’s chest, warm and bright. He’d known that it might mean nothing. He’d always faced the possibility that his first kiss with Thorin Oakenshield might be his last.  And he’d told himself that if that was the case, if it had been a drunken mistake or if Thorin didn’t remember it in the morning and never mentioned it again, then it would be enough. That he would still have the memory of warm lips on his own, thick, rough fingers caressing his jaw, the deep rumble of Thorin breathing Bilbo’s name against his skin.  He could be happy with that alone.

 

But at the time, he’d never considered that the reason he would never get a second kiss would be because Thorin would be dead less than a fortnight later.  Nor that he would go to his grave despising Bilbo as a traitor.

 

Thunder boomed again, and Bilbo put his head in his hands, tugging at his hair until the pain grew sharp and biting.  Another crash came only a moment later.

 

_ “Leave me in peace!” _ he cried out, desperate for reprieve from the bitter memories.  There was a moment of blessed silence, then the noise came again.  This time, Bilbo realized it wasn’t more thunder, but someone knocking on his front door.  With a curse, he rose.

 

Who the devil would be out in this madness?  Anyone respectable would be tucked away in their beds, safe and dry, not traipsing about the Shire, disturbing others’ painful introspection.  And a moment later he was proven right. No one respectable indeed.

 

“Gandalf!”

 

The wizard smiled down at Bilbo, unmindful of the rain dripping over the edges of his hat.  “Bilbo, my old friend.”

 

“Come in, come in,” Bilbo urged, snapping out of his shock and opening the door in welcome.  Gandalf ducked his head to enter and Bilbo shut the door firmly behind him.

 

“For a moment there, I thought perhaps I was not welcome.”

 

“No, no, of course not!  Just this storm. Blasted thing doesn’t seem to ever want to end.  Summer can’t come soon enough and put an end to these spring zephyrs, if you ask me.”

 

Gandalf studied Bilbo appraisingly, and suddenly Bilbo felt very transparent.  As though the wizard knew  _ why _ the storms unsettled him so.  If he did, he was polite enough not to comment on it.  Instead, he took the seat Bilbo offered, then exchanged small talk with Bilbo about the weather until a cup of tea was put in his hands.

 

“You are as gracious a host as ever, I see,” he said with a smile.  Bilbo tried not to think back to the last time his hospitality had been tested without warning.  A faint echo of Thorin’s achingly mournful voice as he sang the Misty Mountain song rang in Bilbo’s ears for a moment before he shook his head to clear it.

 

“Old friends are always welcome here.”  He forced himself to smile,and found that the gesture was not wholly unnatural.  Truly, it was good to see Gandalf, despite the memories he brought with him.

 

“Oh?  Have others been dropping in?”

 

“Now and then,” Bilbo replied.  “Balin and Dwalin stopped by oh, last autumn sometime?  And Dori, Nori, and Ori came that summer. I hear there’s more talk of Moria, and Ori said Bailn and Oin were particularly excited about that.”

 

“Fools, the lot of them,” Gandalf huffed.  “I’ve told them before that Moria isn’t safe, but they have all the stubbornness of their race and then again by half.”

 

“They are an obstinate lot,” Bilbo agreed.  “Is it really so dangerous?”

 

Gandalf glanced at Bilbo sidelong, then made a noncommittal noise.  “If we are fortunate,” he said by way of answer, “it will be a long time before such an expedition would be undertaken.  I’d think they would have had enough of adventure for a decade or more.”

 

“I know I have.”  Bilbo’s voice seemed too quiet in the room.  He cleared his throat and reminded his mouth to curve again.  “Life in the Shire has been enough of an adventure for me of late.”

 

“Avoiding irksome relations and appraising Hamfast’s work on your garden?”  Gandalf chuckled.

 

“Steering clear of Lobelia is a full time occupation these days!  Bad enough that it took nearly a year to get my mother’s spoons back from her after that dratted auction.  When she saw me visit the solicitor, she wouldn’t leave me alone for a month! Of course she knows on no uncertain terms that Bag End will go to Prim and Drogo when I’m gone, or their son Frodo after them.  But does that stop her from nattering on? Heavens no!”

 

“It sounds as though life in the Shire isn’t quite as peaceful as you thought it would be when you returned.”

 

“I- well there’s a comfort to be had in being home, despite all that.  It’s important, home. Even if it does seem a bit… empty, at times.”

 

“Perhaps in order to appreciate it once again, what you need is another adventure.”

 

Bilbo put down his tea cup and faced Gandalf squarely.  He was in no mood for riddles or being prodded along to an inevitable conclusion.  “Why are you here, Gandalf?”

 

“Must there be a reason for me to visit?” he asked innocently.  Bilbo scowled at him.

 

“No, there  _ musn’t _ , and I wish you  _ would _ come without reason, but here you are talking of adventures again.  I’ve gotten wise to your tricks, Gandalf the Grey, and I’m too surly to be taken in by that roundabout way of yours.  Now if you’ve truly come just to catch up with an old friend, I’ll ask your pardon very sincerely, but if you’ve got other motives, speak them plainly.” 

 

Gandalf harrumphed.  He took out his pipe and began to pack it.  He gazed for long moments at the pipe, then the fire, then at Bilbo.  Finally, he lit the pipe, took a long, stuccatto draw to get it smoldering, and spoke.  “There are rumors.”

 

“There have been rumors for as long as there have been beings with the power of speech.”

 

“Rumors about Erebor.”

 

Despite having suspected that whatever business Gandalf had come with might be connected to the mountain, Bilbo still felt his breath catch.  “Oh?” His voice came out faint and high.

 

“It is whispered that a beast again resides in the Lonely Mountain.  The men of Dale claim that it is the spirit of the dragon slain by Bard, and the elves of Greenwood fear that a demon of the earth was awakened in the battle there.”

 

“And you?”  Bilbo barely had breath to speak.  “What do you think?”

 

“I think, perhaps, there is something there that never left.”

 

Bilbo’s heart began to drum in his ears and it felt as though the heat had all left the room.  Something in the mountain. Something that never left.  _ “Thorin.” _  Trembling, he dragged his eyes up to Gandalf’s for confirmation.  Gandalf gave a single nod. “You think- you think Thorin is still  _ alive? _  That he’s been in Erebor all this time?  It’s- it’s been  _ two years! _  We left… everyone left… and he might have been alive?  We  _ abandoned _ him there?”

 

“Bilbo-”  Gandalf’s tone was sharp enough to keep Bilbo from sliding into hysteria, then gentled.  “Bilbo, I know nothing for certain. It is a possibility.”

 

“But that’s what you think!”

 

“It is what I suspect, yes.”  He laid his hand on Bilbo’s knee.  “No one had any reason to believe that Thorin might have survived the collapse.  The damage was far too extensive, and there was no sign in the days following the battle.  Dain was right not to send anyone in to try and locate a body; it was too dangerous.”

 

“But… if he survived…”

 

“If he survived, it was not as the dwarf you knew.  You saw him before the battle, Bilbo. You know what the arkenstone was doing to him.”

 

“He- he was sick!  He just needed help.  He needed-”

 

“He nearly killed you for trying to avert a war.”

 

The pain of that struck so deeply that for a moment, Bilbo couldn’t speak.  The memories of that, too, were hauntingly clear. The bruising grip of Thorin’s fingers around his throat, the hatred in his clouded eyes.  “He was sick,” he finally repeated. “People who are sick need  _ healed. _  Not to be abandoned in the ruins of a mountain for two years.”

 

“I fear that there is no healing what ailed him.  The sickness was in his blood, as it was in his father’s, and his father’s before him.”

 

“It was in that damned arkenstone!  Before that, Thorin was- he was good and kind and honorable!  He was a king not just in name, but in deed! He deserved more than to be…”  Bilbo dashed away the moisture he felt slipping down his face. “Do you truly think he yet lives?”

 

“I do not want to give you false hope, dear friend.  I wouldn’t wish the pain of his loss on you again for all the stars in the night sky.  I do believe that there is a chance the explosion did not kill Thorin, but make no mistake - the Thorin Oakenshield you knew died the moment he stepped into that mountain.  The arkenstone is a poison he cannot resist. Just being near it was enough to awaken the sickness. If I had known how strongly it would affect him-”

 

“But you  _ do _ believe he is there.  Sick or no.”

 

“Whatever there is left of him that the dragonsickness has not consumed.”

 

Bilbo sagged back in his chair, both horrified and elated at the possibilitiy.  Thorin might be alive! But if he was, it meant that he had been abandoned in Erebor for two years.  Left alone with nothing but the cursed arkenstone and the ruins of his kingdom. Shame scalded Bilbo so hotly that he lost his breath, and wild, radiant hope followed in its wake.

 

“We have to go see,” he insisted suddenly.  He felt as though he wouldn’t be able to bear even one more moment of not knowing - and he knew that there would be a long time yet before he  _ could _ know.  “We have to go to Erebor.”

 

“The journey is a long one, even with the aid of the eagles.  Are you sure you want to make the trip again, Bilbo? This quest is not your responsibility.”

 

“What?  Of course it is!  It’s  _ Thorin! _  How could I not go?”

 

Gandalf smiled a little, mischief twinkling in his eyes.  “And here I thought you’d had enough of adventures.”

 

Bilbo threw his teaspoon at the wizard’s head.


	2. Chapter 2

Returning to the Lonely Mountain turned out to be far easier than the first time around.  It was easier even than his trip home had been, as he’d been borne most of the way by an eagle who had asked him politely not to pull her feathers in flight, and hadn’t even nipped at him when the air pressure changed suddenly and he  _ did _ accidentally dislodge one feather.

 

Gandalf had suggested they stop at Beorn’s, but Bilbo wasn’t willing to wait even a moment longer without knowing Thorn’s true fate.

 

While it was obvious that the eagles, too, would have liked to stay and indulge in Beorn’s hospitality, they offered no complaint at being denied it.  Instead, they flew directly towards Dale.

 

***

 

The city of Dale was far different than Bilbo remembered it, and not just because the thriving little town had been in ruins before.  The distance between the town and the mountain was marked. Anything in the immediate shadow of the mountain had been left to rubble, while the places further away had been rebuilt and were flourishing.

 

Again, Gandalf suggested they stop and take respite at Bard’s house, but again, Bilbo refused.  Bard could wait. Laketown could wait. Life could wait. But Thorin could not wait a single moment longer than absolutely necessary.

 

Which was why Bilbo had woken up sore and stiff from sleeping on the rocks at the base of the mountain.  It was also why Gandalf was muttering about the obstinacy of hobbits being almost as bad as dwarves. Bilbo might have been inclined to tell him that if the characteristics of dwarves had rubbed off on him, then Gandalf only had himself to blame for it, but his mind was occupied with other things.

 

The sight of the Lonely Mountain in the dawn light was one he never thought he would see again.  Even half collapsed, there was an air of majesty about it, rising from the ground solitary and proud.  It reminded Bilbo much of Thorin himself, and the thought sent a bolt of anticipation through him. There was both terror and elation in his heart, each holding their place equally.  The hope that Thorin might be alive was almost too great a joy to bear. And yet, he had not forgotten Gandalf’s words. If Thorin was indeed in the mountain, it was not the stoic Wandering King that had arrived here years before.  It was a dwarf that had been ensnared in dragonsickness, shut away from the world with nothing but the shine of gold and the noxious pull of the arkenstone for company.

 

Still, if Thorin was in there, then no matter how bad the sickness had become, there was a  _ chance. _  Bilbo hadn’t been able to save him from it before the battle, but he was damn well going to do it this time.  No matter what it took.

 

“Your mother used to get that same look on her face when she was about to do something particularly foolish,” Gandalf commented.

 

Bilbo huffed out a laugh.  “We can all be nothing but what we are, and I am Belladonna Took’s son as much as I am a hobbit from the Shire.  If what I am about to do is foolish, then let me be a fool. But I am going to do what is  _ right. _  What I should have done from the beginning.”

 

“Bilbo-”  Gandalf’s usually sharp grey eyes were softened with concern.

 

“Let’s get moving, shall we?  There’s an awfully long climb ahead if I remember correctly.  Not to mention finding whatever opening you saw -  _ and _ making it big enough for a wizard to get through if it’s not already.”

 

It was obvious Gandalf still wanted to say something about Bilbo’s resolve, but he smiled instead and raised a brow.  “Not big enough for a hobbit?”

 

“A hobbit can fit anywhere that Big Folk can, even with the extra we carry about our middles.”  They had started to climb, and Bilbo was grateful for the distraction of their banter. Already, it felt as if each step was a mile, as if eternity separated him from the entrance to the mountain instead of only a single climb.

 

“Extra about the middle?”  Gandalf poked Bilbo’s stomach with his staff.  “You’ve not had a proper softness to you since your first time through Greenwood, Bilbo Baggins.  Here I’d been hoping that a few years in the Shire would return you to a full hobbit shape, but alas.”

 

“If you wanted me to be a  _ proper _ hobbit, you never should have asked me to be a burglar for a band of homeless dwarves.  Weighing a few stone less than perhaps I ought is the  _ least _ of what prevents me from being respectable.”

 

“Perhaps so.  Still,” Gandalf insisted, “you didn’t even ask for breakfast this morning.  And you barely ate on the trip here. I do not intend to let you waste away, no matter how distracted you may be.”  He pulled a small pack from inside his robe and pushed it into Bilbo’s skeptical hands. “A gift from the elves,” he explained as Bilbo opened the satchel to reveal squares of bread wrapped in leaves.  “Lembas. They will sustain you even when you are too occupied to eat a properly hobbitish meal.”

 

Bilbo took a small bite of one and was pleased to find it sated a hunger he’d forgotten he had.  He smiled. “Thank you, Gandalf. You might not share Radagast's intent to care for all things large and small, but you certainly take care of those you call friend.”

 

“At some times better than others,” Gandalf murmured.

 

***

 

It took all morning to find the opening that smoke had been escaping through.  The noon sun was clearing away the mist that seemed to perpetually swirl about the mountain as they set about making it passable.  It was already large enough for Gandalf to fit through - and Bilbo, certainly - but the origin of the hole seemed to be deep within the mountain, because the passage was dangerously steep and the end nothing but darkness, even by the light of Gandalf’s staff.

 

Gandalf had to again remind Bilbo to eat, but thankfully more of the lembas meant that he could fill himself with a few bites and return to work almost immediately, despite the displeased look Gandalf gave him.

 

Eventually they managed to create a crude set of steps they could stumble down - and then they were inside the Lonely Mountain.  Only dim light filtered through their passage, making the room they landed in cast in heavy shadows. Still, it was more than seemed to be elsewhere.  Beyond the small pool of light they had created was nothing but blackness. It was difficult to think that anything could live in the oppressive pitch.

 

It was how Smaug had lived, Bilbo remembered with a shudder.  Suddenly it seemed that he was right back to where everything had begun to go wrong, sneaking into the mountain to confront a dragon.  His only comfort was that this time, he wasn’t alone. Gandalf was beside him, and with a word, the tip of his staff began to glow. The warm friendly light banished the darkness around them and eased some of Bilbo’s fear.  He was not going to meet a dragon, but to find a friend. And apart from Thorin himself, there was no one Bilbo would rather have at his side than Gandalf.

 

Bolstered, Bilbo stepped out of the room they’d landed in and began to make his way deeper into Erebor.  Gandalf’s light showed him where to put his feet, but Bilbo felt as though something else was leading the way.  Much like the first time he’d entered the lost city, it felt like he was drawn to the heart of the mountain, to where something sinister and eternal resided.

 

The halls were eerily silent and wholly unfamiliar.  Despite having seen most of this part of Erebor on the quest, none of it looked as it had then.  There were entire sections that had caved in, halls strewn with rubble so vast it made them impassable.  Occasionally the glow of Gandalf’s staff revealed some small sign of life, but they were as grim as their surroundings.  The remains of a goblin that looked as though it had been half consumed. Gouges deep in the stone that had been left there recently - though  _ how, _ Bilbo did not want to know.  They passed a room of waste that had been abused to filth, and another that might have served to bring fresh water to the mountain at one time, but the water trickling in was putrid.

 

For a single moment, Bilbo hoped it wasn’t true.  He hoped that it  _ wasn’t _ Thorin that had been living like this, like less than a beast.  It was unspeakably demeaning that he might have been brought to this, the King of Erebor, as even less than the foul creature that had stolen the mountain from his grandfather.

 

But as soon as that moment passed, Bilbo was ashamed of the thought.  It was borne of pride, and what place did pride have in this? Hadn’t he wished so many times in his secret heart of hearts that Thorin could be returned to him, in any way that might happen?  He didn’t  _ care _ what Thorin had been reduced to, as long as he was still  _ alive. _  Whatever had happened, they could fix it.  However Thorin had survived, they could move past it.  Bilbo was going to see Thorin restored, and what had filled these last two years would be nothing more than a nightmare to be chased away by the clear light of day.

 

That was the vow that he held onto as they came to the door of the treasure chamber.  The room seemed to have been mostly undisturbed by the explosion, which likely explained how Thorin had survived, since Bilbo didn’t expect him to have been anywhere else when it happened.  A chill swept through him at the thought of Thorin alone in this cold, dark sea of gold while a battle raged outside, while his family and friends fought for their lives, not even noticing when half the mountain he’d fought so hard to regain came down around him.

 

He had been so tainted by the dragonsickness, so deep under the arkenstone’s thrall, that he had been willing to forsake everything else after just a few days.  How much worse would it be now, all this time later?

 

Gandalf raised his staff high, and the circle of light around them expanded.  The sight was much as Bilbo remembered it. A sea of coins, jewels, and treasures as far as the eye could see.  It was stark and lifeless. There was no sound but their own breathing. Bilbo’s stomach twisted. Perhaps the rumors had been wrong.  Perhaps there was no life left in this cursed place at all.

 

Suddenly Gandalf thrust his staff higher, and a ball of light rose high into the air above them.  A loud hiss echoed around the room. No, they were not alone. Just as it had back at Bag End when Gandalf had first told him Thorin might yet live, Bilbo’s heart began to pound, his pulse becoming an incessant drum in his ears. Gandalf’s ball of light fell back to them, and wordlessly, they began to cross the room to where the hiss had originated from.

 

Bilbo’s foot caught on a chest, and he slid halfway down a mound of gold before catching himself.  A deep, slow chuckle came from somewhere in the darkness ahead of him. In an instant, Gandalf was at his side, helping Bilbo to his feet.

 

“Courage, Bilbo,” he whispered, feeling Bilbo’s trembling beneath his fingers.  “Whatever awaits us, you do not face it alone.” Bilbo nodded and swallowed thickly.  His throat was so dry that it clicked audibly. The hissing laugh came again, closer this time as they continued forward.

 

In another dozen steps, the edge of their circle of light showed steps to a dias.  Gandalf raised his staff, illuminating yet more and more stairs. Stark against the gleaming gold of the top stair was the jagged end of a cloak.  Bilbo’s breath caught.

 

“What manner of creature do we face, here in the ruins of Erebor?” Gandalf asked clearly.  Though his voice had not been raised, it still echoed around them.

 

“I should have expected a  _ wizard _ to be so disrespectful.  Is it not usually those that have broken in as thieves in the night whose identities are demanded?”

 

Bilbo’s knees gave out beneath him.   _ Thorin. _  The voice was sinister, spat with venom as though around the fangs of a dragon, but it was still, unmistakably, Thorin.  He heard the name escape brokenly past his lips. There was a beat of silence, then the voice, achingly familiar yet disturbingly distorted, came again.

 

“But I suppose one cannot expect ought else from traitors.  After all, those with ill intent rarely make themselves known so plainly.  Perhaps I should be thanking you for revealing yourselves. It will make executing you all the quicker.”

 

“And what gives you, who sits shrouded in darkness, the right to pass judgement of execution?” Gandalf demanded.

 

“I have the  _ only _ right,” Thorin roared.  Something in the way the ground shook beneath Bilbo’s knees made him find the courage to stand.

 

“If you are indeed rightful ruler here and not just a phantom of my imagination come to torment me, then let me see the proof of it with my own eyes.  Step into the light,” he implored quietly.

 

“It is some small comfort that you acknowledge you are deserving of torment, halfling.  Did you come all this way just to look upon the visage of the master of this mountain, or did you simply want to look me in the eyes again before you stole from me?”

 

“Let me see you.  Then pass upon me what judgement you will.”

 

“If mine is the last face you want to see in this world, I’ll not deny you.”  There was a swish of fabric, then a sound that was akin to scales sliding against metal.  Bilbo fought not to cringe away from it. A jarring scrape echoed through the air, then it was followed by a clatter.  What made the noise might have been a foot, once, but now held little resemblance to a dwarven appendage. Dark claws made gouges in the gold where they landed with every step.  Another set of them came into view, then thick legs covered by ragged trousers. Beneath the tattered fabric was not pale skin, but dark scales.

 

The beast took another step down, then another.  Hands with claws even more deadly looking than the others were illuminated.  The chest that Bilbo had always remembered as broad and solid had expanded in monstrous proportion.  Another step revealed long dark hair shot through with red where once silver had been. And then, somehow before Bilbo was ready despite how slowly the descent had been, Thorin stepped fully into the light.  His black cloak had spread out on the stairs behind him like wings, completing the horrifying picture of a draconian beast come to life.

 

Only Thorin’s face held any of who he used to be.  Though his mouth was filled with vicious fangs, the sharp nose was still the same, those eyes were still as bright as sapphire.  There was no mistaking the features of the being before them. It was Thorin. Bilbo only realized he was weeping when the absolute silence in the room was broken by the sound of teardrops striking gold.

 

Only Gandalf’s grip on him kept Bilbo from going to his knees again.  Despite all the warnings the wizard had given him, Bilbo had never imagined that it might be like this.  That Thorin might really have been so tainted by the dragonsicknes that he had become the beast himself. For though he walked upright and had the eyes of Thorin Oakenshield, there was no mistaking what this was: the dragon of the Lonely Mountain.

 

_ “Thorin-” _

 

“Do not address me so disrespectfully,” Thorin hissed, “unless you wish your end to be  _ immediate.” _  He straightened and seemed to get taller yet.  “I am King under the Mountain, halfling. And you are  _ nothing.” _

 

“That is quite enough,” Gandalf interrupted firmly.  “Is that the way the last of the line of Durin greets his friends?  

 

“There are no friends of mine here!”

 

“Are you not Thorin Oakenshield then?  He who embarked on a perilous journey to regain his kingdom and only survived with the aid of this halfling?  He who sent this halfling to face the dragon that he dared not face himself? He who abandoned his friends and fellow beings of the light to bask in treasure while  _ this halfling _ stood by your kin, facing death to try and save them?”

 

“I was the one abandoned!” Thorin billowed, the skin of his face flushed crimson in his rage.  “I was the one betrayed by him and all those I trusted! If any survived and were foolish enough to return here they would be executed for treason just as you will be!  Even my sister-sons would feel my wrath-”

 

“Your nephews are  _ dead!” _  The exclamation halted Thorin, and for a moment there was a flash of true grief on his face.  “They were slain in battle killing Azog the Defiler - as  _ you _ had sworn to do.”  Gandalf shook his head, and the anger left him.  “We have not come to steal from you, Thorin Oakenshield, nor to stand to your judgement.  We came to  _ help _ you.  This mountain is cursed.  Even your cousin Dain has turned his back on it.  Let us all leave this tomb together. Abandon this poisenous gold and the stone that has tainted your line for so-”

 

At the mention of the arkenstone, Thorin’s face clouded with rage once more.  “Silence! Deceivers! Treacherous snakes! I do not want to hear one more word of your lies!”

 

“I am sorry,” Gandalf whispered, “for how badly I have failed you, Thorin.”  He looked to Bilbo, gripping his staff tighter. “Stand back, Bilbo. The line of Durin truly has ended.  I will put the creature wearing Thorin’s face out of its misery, and we can leave this accursed place.”

 

“You dare to threaten me?”  Thorin’s stance turned foreboding, muscles bunching as his claws gleamed wickedly in the pale light.

 

“Behind me, Bilbo!” Gandalf ordered, stepping forward.

 

“Wait!”

 

Thorin and Gandalf both stilled, eyes turned toward the hobbit in shock.  “No one needs to hurt anyone. You- you are not yourself, Thorin. But you are still king here.  You are the master here. You are the rightful ruler, as your father was before you, and his father before him.”  Bilbo watched, almost sadly, as the praise softened Thorin’s anger, tempered his violence. Just as it had worked on Smaug.  “This is your kingdom, and we will not interfere here. The arkenstone is your birthright. It is the only thing in this world befitting your stature.  And… and what more could a king such as yourself need save for a subject to rule over?”

 

“Bilbo, don’t-”

 

“Silence!” Thorin ordered Gandalf.  “Let him speak. He is finally proving himself capable of spouting more than lies from those pretty lips of his.”  

 

Bilbo forced his voice not to tremble, even as fear gripped his heart in the wake of what he planned.  “The true crime here is that there is no one to appreciate your magnificence. To bask in your glory. A ruler deserves someone to rule.”

 

“And let me guess,” Thorin drawled with a smirk, “you are offering yourself up for the task?”

 

“I am.”

 

“Bilbo, you can’t!”  Gandalf half turned to Bilbo, but kept his staff between them and Thorin.  His face was lined with concern.

 

“He has just said that I am king here, meddling wizard.  What he can and can’t do is  _ my _ decision.”  He smiled, flashing sharp fangs.  “And maybe the halfling is right. A subject is my right just as much as this mountain is.  But… we cannot forget what you really are.” He moved forward, ignoring Gandalf’s glower, and placed the tip of one claw beneath Bilbo’s chin to tilt his face up.   _ “Thief.” _

 

Bilbo did not flinch away, nor did he try to defend himself.  He stood his ground, holding Thorin’s eyes steadily.

 

“What could entice me to welcome a thief into my mountain?  To allow you near the treasure you already stole twice?”

 

“What better justice could there be, my king, than for me to remain here not only as your subject but as prisoner as well?” 

 

Gandalf’s gasp went ignored by them both.  Thorin’s chilling smile returned. “Well then, perhaps this is a way for us to  _ both _ get what we deserve.”

 

“Bilbo, he will kill you.”

 

“Perhaps,” Thorin admitted.  “Or perhaps I enjoy his flattery enough to keep him alive.”

 

“The decision is yours alone to make, your majesty.”

 

“Clever little thing.”  The claw beneath Bilbo’s chin shifted away, and instead the warm rasp of skin touched him.  Thorin’s fingers, apparently still somewhat dwarven despite the scales and claws, curled around Bilbo’s neck.  “But if you believe that my treatment of you will be affected by whatever naive affection I may have felt for you before, then you are gravely mistaken.  There will be no gentleness between us. If you provoke my amory, it will be as naught but punishment for you.”

 

_ “Thorin Oakenshield! _  You will not speak of defiling this innocent being, or I will slay you where you stand, despite his wishes.”

 

Thorin’s dark brow arched.  “Innocent? I doubt that. But do not insult me with accusations of villainy, wizard.  _ I  _ am no thief. I do not take things that are not freely given.” His hold on Bilbo’s throat lightened, then fell away.

 

Something that had been cold and brittle in the bottom of Bilbo’s soul warmed.  There was still some of the person Thorin had been inside him, perhaps buried beneath scales and darkness, but it was there. The male that Bilbo had lost his heart to was still within the creature before him. And that, more than anything else, solidified his resolve.

 

“Will you allow me to stay, my King?”

 

Thorin studied Bilbo for a long, tense moment, then smirked haughtily.  “Yes.”

 

“And,” Bilbo said quickly before Gandalf could object, “may I be allowed to speak for a moment with my travelling companion? If my life is to be spent here, I will never see him again.”

 

Though it looked at first as though Thorin would deny him, hearing Bilbo say he would never see the wizard again seemed to appease him. He waved his hand in acquiescence.  “But remember this, Gandalf the Grey: I am granting this leniency at my leave and only once. Return to my mountain again, try and speak to the halfling again, and his life will be forfeit.”

 

Gandalf glowered, but did not try and contradict the sentence. Instead, he turned to Bilbo and spoke in a low whisper.

 

“You cannot think to remain here, Bilbo! That creature is not Thorin. It is a serpent wearing his face.  A demon of greed and cruelty. He will murder you where you stand and think it his right.”

 

“He won't,” Bilbo promised, though they both knew he could make no such assurance.  “This is what I choose, Gandalf. If there is even the faintest, slimmest, wildest chance that I can bring him back to himself, then I will risk everything to take it.  I lost him once before and had to live with that. Don't ask me to do it again.”

 

“Bilbo.” Gandalf sighed, letting his hand rest on Bilbo’s cheek in a warm display of affection. Neither let the growl that came from behind them bother them.  “Never has there been a creature on this earth more valiant, more honorable, more courageous, than you. I bow to no king, but to you I kneel.” He dropped to one knee, looking into Bilbo’s eyes earnestly.  “If ever you have need of me, I will be there. Remember that well.”

 

Before Bilbo could do more than blush and stammer his thanks, Gandalf rose.  Without a ‘by your leave’ from the king, Gandalf left, taking the circle of light with him.


	3. Chapter 3

As the last of Gandalf’s footfalls faded away, so too did the last of the light.  Then, Bilbo was blinking in total darkness, with nothing more than the heat from Thorin’s body to tell him that he was not alone.  He remained standing in the silence for as long as he could bear before he broke it.

 

“Your majesty?”  He was proud that his voice did not tremble, despite the panic that squeezed his heart at being blind.

 

“What?” Thorin growled from Bilbo’s left side.  Though the tone was not a pleasant one, it helped Bilbo ground himself.  He could not see, but there was gold beneath his feet and Thorin at his side.  He was not lost in an endless void.

 

“C-could we perhaps light a torch?  The darkness, it-”

 

Thorin laughed, the sound cold compared to the deep, warm timbre that had expressed his amusement before the dragonsickness had taken him.  “You cannot see in it, can you?” Thorin’s voice moved, giving Bilbo the impression that he was being circled. “Such a fragile creature you are.  Utterly defenseless to me. It would take so little to-” there was a rasp of scales, and then warm breath puffed out against Bilbo’s ear, “-snuff you out.”

 

Against his instinctive reaction, Bilbo did not flinch away.  “Compared to you, I am very small indeed. Especially now, my King.”

 

“Yes, you do seem even tinier than I remember.”

 

“The Thorin of before was of a pleasant size, and strong enough in it.”

 

“The Thorin of before was a blind fool!”  Thorin’s hand rose up and covered Bilbo’s eyes, redundant in the darkness, but Bilbo could at least be grateful that he wasn’t cut by the claws.  “He was  _ weak. _  But gold… ah, there is power.  And with the arkenstone in my possession, no one can doubt my regency.  I am mightier now than any king in my line. None can stand against me.”

 

“Then perhaps we are both blind,” Bilbo said sadly.  Thorin snarled and stepped away. A chill swept through Bilbo at the sudden loss of heat.

 

“I preferred your honeyed tongue to your barbed one, burglar.  For the first time in my life I can see clearly. It is your turn to remain in darkness.”  With the last few words, Thorin’s voice faded. He was walking away. Bilbo reached out with both hands, hoping to catch some part of Thorin even if it angered him.  More than anything, he did not want to be left alone in the unending blackness.

 

His hands met nothing but air.  “Thorin!” He took a few rapid steps and stumbled, gasping when something cold and sharp dug into his palm as he caught his fall.  He tried to continue forward, ignoring the slick warmth of blood dripping down his fingers. “Thorin,  _ please.” _  The coins beneath Bilbo’s feet began to slide, and he found himself pitched forward, falling-

 

Steel traps seemed to close on his sides and he was hauled backwards.  His back met a solid wall of heat. Almost immediately, the claws digging into his waistcoat lightened, easing their bite.  “As much as it would amuse me to watch you tumble to your death so soon after arriving, it would defeat the purpose of keeping you here for my enjoyment.”  Though the words were not quite comforting, Bilbo sagged back against Thorin’s chest in relief. He felt more than heard Thorin’s breath catch, then a moment later he was set back on his feet.  

 

Metal sang against itself discordantly for a while, then Bilbo felt something cold wrap around his neck.  It pulled snug, but not to choking. He felt it with his fingertips and realized it extended out - presumably to Thorin’s hand.  A leash, then.

 

“You look pretty with my gold wrapped around your throat.”  Thorin tugged lightly, and Bilbo moved in the direction of the pull.

 

“I wouldn’t know.  I have never worn much jewellry.”

 

“Perhaps because you do not appreciate its true value.  There might be some pleasure to be had in draping you with riches you will never own, for my eyes only.  Maybe sometime soon I will adorn you in nothing  _ but _ that.”

 

Bilbo stilled until another tug of the leash got him moving again.  “As you wish, my King.” They were back to the stairs, and Bilbo tried to put all his focus on climbing them without falling and hanging himself rather than the carnal image Thorin’s words conjured.

 

“So compliant.  So obedient. I wonder how long this docility will last.  Until it no longer suits you? Until you see a chance to steal from me once more?  If you think to lull me into a false sense of security and take advantage of that, then you will be disappointed.  I will enjoy your servitude without lowering my guard, and you will get nothing for it.”

 

“The satisfaction of your enjoyment is enough for me, my King,” Bilbo said between struggling breaths.  Thorin moved quickly for his size, and he gave no consideration to Bilbo’s pace.

 

“Is it, now?”  There seemed to be a wealth of innuendo in Thorin’s tone, but Bilbo was too distracted keeping up with him to try and puzzle it out.  “Perhaps I shall have to put that to the test.”

 

Bilbo opened his mouth to try and reply, but he suddenly ran into Thorin’s back.  The floor beneath his feet had evened out. They had finally reached the top of the steps.  Thorin shifted away from Bilbo with a growl of impatience, then the sound of scales scraping gold and a slight rustle of cloth indicated that Thorin had sat down.  Bilbo wondered what his throne looked like. Was it skillfully carved of precious metals, as dwarves were capable of, or had he fashioned it out of bones and rubble, the way a dragon might?

 

He stood for a moment, waiting to see if Thorin would offer him a seat or give him some other directions, but nothing seemed forthcoming.  Bilbo focused on the soft hiss of Thorin’s breathing, on the throb in his hand where he’d cut himself, on the tiredness of his muscles from the day’s exertions - anything to keep himself from thinking about the decision he’d made and whether it was the right one.

 

Doubts plagued him, despite how fervent his resolve was.  What if Thorin truly was beyond saving?

 

“Is this how you want me, your majesty?” he asked softly, interrupting his useless thoughts.  It was done. There was no going back.

 

“How  _ I _ want you is more than you could handle to hear, halfling.”

 

Bilbo blushed darkly.  What could Thorin possibly expect him to say to that?  Yes, he’d given up his propriety long before, but he’d always at least been respectable, and respectable hobbits did not make such blatant innuendo.  Even the tumbles he’d indulged in had been politely arranged and carried out in cover of darkness, as anyone with a sense of decency did.

 

Darkness here was in no short supply, but there was nothing decent in Thorin’s insinuation.

 

“Let’s start with you on your knees,” Thorin said when it became apparent that Bilbo had no reply.  The leash tugged down, and Bilbo followed it, sitting back on his heels. He wanted to look at Thorin, but had no idea where he was, so he simply blinked into the void.

 

A claw pressed lightly beneath Bilbo’s chin suddenly and tipped his face up.  Bilbo did not resist, despite his self preservation rebelling against leaving his throat so exposed in close proximity of those wicked claws.

 

“This is the place where you truly belong,” Thorin murmured.  Bilbo swallowed hard but otherwise remained perfectly still. “You have no idea how many times I imagined you like this.  Kneeling at my feet. Submitting to my will. A docile little pet, kept for his King’s amusement.”

 

“Is that what you’d like me to be?” Bilbo asked softly.  “A pet?”

 

The claw beneath his chin vanished.  “Pet, prisoner, it makes no difference to me.”  Thorin’s voice was purposely harsh, as if he was trying to convince Bilbo that it did not matter to him, but it wasn’t a pretense he could achieve.

 

“You have no preference whether you coddle or punish me?”

 

“Perhaps I want to do both.”

 

There was another stretch of silence as Bilbo considered that.  The fact that Thorin wasn’t actively trying to end Bilbo’s life was a far improvement from the last time they had spoken.  Wanting Bilbo punished was more reasonable than intending to toss him from the battlements. Bilbo wondered if that was simply because his initial rage at discovering the arkenstone’s loss had cooled, or if maybe his solitude had grown more oppressive than his need for revenge.  Either way, it was a change in his favor.

 

Referring to Bilbo as his pet, however, was a strange slide into unknown territory.  He could understand how both the ruler and dragon in Thorin would be appeased at subjugating Bilbo, but this did not seem like simple vanity.  Despite being a respectable hobbit, Bilbo was not wholly ignorant of the carnal games others sometimes indulged in - but was  _ that _ really what Thorin wanted?  It seemed so discordant with the upstanding, stoic dwarf Bilbo had come to know.

 

Perhaps Bilbo was the one with the deviant mind.  It was possible that Thorin thought of him as nothing more than a dog, kept to do tricks.  After all, he did say that he no longer held any affection for Bilbo.

 

Which meant that, at one point, he  _ had _ held affection for Bilbo.  That their kiss hadn’t been a drunken mistake, that Thorin had returned Bilbo’s feelings, at least to some small extent.  That perhaps, if Thorin hadn’t fallen to the dragonsickness…

 

But no.  Those thoughts were useless and would only bring Bilbo heartache.  What was done was done. It did not matter what might have been. He could be content with the knowledge that once, Thorin had cared for him.  Even if Thorin could not be cured, even if he  _ was, _ and the feelings did not return, knowing that they had been there once was enough.

 

“Talk to me,” Thorin demanded, drawing Bilbo out of his thoughts.

 

“What would you like me to say?”

 

“I don’t know!  Anything! You always seemed to possess the ability to enthrall those around you with stories.  Tell me one.”

 

The stories he’d told in the last two years had mostly been of his adventures, of which Thorin had been a part.  He thought back, to the tales he would tell youngsters before he had gone on the quest. The first one that came to mind was a fable about the birth of the first hobbit, the incarnation of the love between the sunshine and the earth.

 

He had barely begun before Thorin interrupted him.  “Not that. Something else.”

 

“Alright,” Bilbo huffed, somewhat irritated at being so rudely dismissed.  He began another story, this one about how his gardener, Hamfast, had used the language of flowers to woo the hobbit lass who would later become his wife.  It was a sweet tale, that reminded Bilbo of all the  _ good _ things about the Shire.  Spring blossoms, quiet romance, long walks over gently rolling hills-

 

“Blast you, are all of your stories nothing but sunshine and roses?  I do not care to hear of the paltry pleasantries you find in weeds. Sunshine is fickle and flowers die.  But gold - gold is eternal. Gems are everlasting.”

 

“Perhaps your majesty would rather tell a story himself,” Bilbo groused.  His knees were beginning to ache from his weight resting on them, and his feet had long since gone numb.  He was sore, exhausted, and in no mood to have his homeland so slandered.

 

Thorin yanked lightly on the leash in reproval, hissing his displeasure.   _ “You _ are the entertainment here, halfling.  It is not my duty to fill  _ your _ time.  And since  _ you _ are the reason I cannot occupy myself as I usually would, it is only fitting that you provide recompense for that!”

 

“What would you normally be doing?” Bilbo asked, genuinely curious despite his frustration.  How had Thorin filled his days the past few years?

 

“The arkenstone engages much of my time - or it  _ did, _ before I had to hide it away from thieving fingers.”

 

“The arkenstone?  Have you been doing something with it?  Carving it or something?”

 

“I would  _ never,” _ Thorin snapped.  “It is glorious as it is; no alteration could increase its radiance.  No, it  _ sings _ to me.”

 

“It… sings to you.”  Bilbo tried, honestly, to keep the incredulity from his tone, but it was impossible to remove completely.

 

“Not in a voice, like you are likely imagining.  I am not  _ mad. _  It calls to me in spirit.  It dazzles me, enthralls me the way echoing ballads of my forefathers did in my youth.  I can wile away endless hours admiring it.”

 

_ “That _ is what you have been doing for  _ two years? _  Looking at a stone?”

 

Thorin growled in anger, but it was cut short.  “Two years?” He seemed confused, unable to accept the time span.  “Has it really been so long since we reclaimed the mountain?”

 

“It was two years this winter.  In another few months it will be two and a half.”

 

“Two and a half years…”  His breath let out on a long sigh, then grew rapid.  “The wizard - Gandalf said that Kili and Fili-” He broke off, unable to finish the sentence.  Bilbo nodded sadly.

 

“They fell in the final battle, even as they slew Azog.  I was by their side. The only reason I survived was the Mithril coat you gave me.  So many times I’ve thought, if one of them could have worn it instead-”

 

_ “Don’t,” _ Thorin commanded sharply.  “There will be no talk of what could have been.  I do not want to speak of the battle at all. Do not mention it again.”  Bilbo wondered at Thorin’s vehemence for a moment, then realized that it might have been aimed at himself.  If Thorin had been at his nephews’ side, then they might have lived. Or they might have all died, and truly ended the line of Durin then and there.  There was no way to know, but the speculation would be painful to anyone who had a heart left to wound.

 

“As you wish,” he agreed softly.

 

“What about… what about Dis?  How does she fare - after?”

 

“I’m not certain, to be honest.  When the rest of the company returned to the Iron Hills with Dain, I went back to the Shire.  But many of them have visited me since, and they say all is well. I’m sure that includes your sister.”

 

Thorin swore.  “They turn their back on the home we fought so hard to regain, but travel to visit the  _ traitor? _  What manner of faint-hearted dwarves did I have in my company!”

 

“There is not a one among them faint-hearted!  No one could ask for better fellows. And they had truer hearts than you when it came time to defend their kin and fellow creatures, Thorin Oakenshield!”

 

Bilbo’s accusation barely ended before the cavernous room was filled with a roar.  The leash jerked Bilbo forward, and then the same hand that had held his throat so carefully earlier was wrapped around it bruisingly.  Claws dug into Bilbo’s skin hard enough to raise furrows He was shaken, once, twice, thrice.

 

“You know nothing of my heart!   _ Nothing!” _

 

Even if he might have denied it, Bilbo could not speak.  Terror welled up within him. Thorin was going to kill him.  Despite how gladly Bilbo would have given his life to save the dwarven King, he did not want to die.  Not like this, deep in the darkness where unforgiving gold would be his tomb.

 

He was flung backwards and a scream escaped his throat, only to be cut short as his back hit the steps and forced all the air from his lungs.  He rolled jarringly down the stairs until he collapsed at the foot of them.

 

Bilbo didn’t even attempt to rise.  Dazed, he lay there, taking stock of his battered body.  His throat burned, and though there didn’t seem to be any blood on his neck, the scrapes there still stung.  His back throbbed hotly but thankfully nothing seemed broken. He could still move all his limbs, though the effort to even make the smallest movements rewarded him with a fierce ache.

 

He was alive, at least for now.  It seemed all he could ask for. From somewhere above him in the darkness, he could hear Thorin hissing and growling.  He was muttering to himself, his ire clear. Even if he could see where the stairs to the throne were, Bilbo would not have tried to climb them again.  There was only so much abuse he could take from Thorin, and his body and mind were at their limit. He waited, tense and exhausted, for endless minutes to see if Thorin would summon him or come down and finish him off.  Neither came to pass.

 

Eventually, Bilbo fell into a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams of a dragon keeping him and Thorin in separate, glittering cages.


	4. Chapter 4

Bilbo woke briefly in the night - at least, he assumed it was still night judging by the exhaustion still weighing him down - by burning and the stench of sulfur.  He struggled, thinking that perhaps the dragon had slithered out of his dreams to torment him in the waking world, but he was held down by a heavy hand.

 

“Still,” Thorin commanded him.  It was deep and rich, the way Thorin’s voice was in his memories rather than the distorted version he’d heard before.  That alone calmed Bilbo, though the pain and smell still assaulted him. His neck was wet and he tried to wipe it away, hoping to relieve some of the sting.

 

“That- hurts,” he panted, still trying to stop the flow of liquid over him.

 

“It is just water.  Stop your whining. These scratches should be cleaned.”  He continued splashing Bilbo’s neck, but now Bilbo’s struggles began again in earnest.  He remembered the water he’d seen trickling into the mountain. It was no wonder his cuts were aggravated and his nose was searing. 

 

“That water is putrid!  Do you not smell it?” He let out a relieved breath when the water was halted.  He heard a soft snuffling, then a sigh.

 

“No.”

 

“Well I can.  It is tainted, Thorin.  It makes my cuts burn.”

 

He half expected Thorin to say that was what he wanted, what Bilbo deserved, but the cruel remark never came.  With a touch more gentle than Bilbo would have thought Thorin capable of, he wiped away the water and patted Bilbo’s neck dry.

 

“Return to sleep, halfling,” he murmured.  Bilbo wanted to protest, or at the least stay awake long enough to puzzle out Thorin’s actions, but already the pull of fatigue was taking him.  At the last moment before sleep overcame him, Bilbo felt the warm weight of fabric cover him, and the smell of Thorin surrounded him.

 

***

 

The first thing Bilbo noticed when he woke again was that he was no longer sleeping in a pile of gold, though his new resting place was nearly as solid.  He was also  _ moving, _ which was somewhat disconcerting.  His eyes cracked open and though he expected the gesture to be futile, he was actually able to see a little.  There seemed to be a dim light somewhere ahead of him, that he was steadily approaching.

 

Thorin was carrying him.  He couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t dreamed Thorin covering him with his cloak, but  _ this _ was certainly no dream.  He was well and truly awake now, and still, he remained in Thorin’s arms.

 

“Thorin?”

 

“Finally you wake,” Thorin huffed.  He had perhaps intended the words to sound irritated, but there was an underlying tone of concern that warmed Bilbo.  “Do all hobbits wile away their hours in sleep the way you do, or are you particularly slothful?”

 

“Hobbits are restful sorts of creatures in everything we do,” Bilbo informed him, only wincing slightly from the pain in his throat.  “It is only rarely that we give up the comforts of a warm bed and seven square meals a day for adventures.”

 

“And yet you have done so twice.”

 

They were getting nearer to the light, and Bilbo was able to make out Thorin’s face.  Perhaps it was the dimness of the glow, but his features looked less draconian and more like himself.  Or maybe Bilbo was merely wishing it so. “The enticements were greater than the inconveniences.”

 

“And yet you dismiss treasure when it is granted you.”

 

“Gold was never my motivation, then or now.”

 

Thorin slowed, then stopped walking entirely.  He looked down at Bilbo, his eyes so sincere, so familiar, that it was a torment not to be able to lean up and kiss him.  “Why  _ did _ you come back?”

 

“For you,” Bilbo replied, his brows drawn together in confusion.  Was that not obvious? Was his heart not so utterly transparent that even a stubborn dwarf in the clutches of dragonsickness could see it?  “Always, for you.”

 

The very air around them seemed thick with anticipation, waiting for…  _ something. _  But Thorin just shook his head.

 

“Foolish halfling.”

 

“Stubborn dwarf,” Bilbo shot back.  Thorin scoffed at him and continued on his way.  A few steps later they were in the room Bilbo had seen the day before.  Instead of the trickle of fetid water running down the rock, though, there was a steady rush of clear, clean water.  Some of it had been diverted into a stone tub, and a fire roared in a grate nearby. “How… what happened here?”

 

“Apparently my lone subject is of a fussy sort.  The water available wasn’t up to his exacting standards, so I improved it.”

 

“I.. Thorin, that was-” Bilbo shook his head, wondering how the beast that threw him so carelessly the eve before could be the same male that was being so considerate of him now.  “Thank you.”

 

“Don’t mistake this, halfling,” Thorin said gruffly, setting Bilbo on his feet.  “You were the one who pointed out that a subject or prisoner are both no use to me dead.  You have needs, I will see to them - within reason. And-” he stopped, reaching his hand out toward Bilbo’s neck and then pulling back, “if you suffer at my hands, then I will see to your injuries as well.  When it suits me,” he added, as though he was afraid of being too considerate.

 

“Whatever the reason, I still appreciate that you did this for me.  Thank you, my King.”

 

Thorin gestured impatiently to the water instead of answering, leaning himself comfortably against the wall.  Bilbo wasted no time going to the shallow bowl of fresh water to rinse his mouth of the stale taste of sleep and quench his thirst.  That finished, he turned to the bath eagerly. The tub looked big enough that he would be able to fit his whole body in it, which was a luxury even by hobbit standards.  He had his waistcoat stripped off and was working on his vest when he realized Thorin was still in the room, watching him from his place against the wall.

 

“Er- your majesty?”  Bilbo fought a blush as Thorin raised a questioning brow but still did not make any move to leave.  “This is for me to bathe, is it not?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Then- well then am I to be afforded any privacy?”

 

Thorin laughed.  “How many times do you think I saw your bare arse on the journey here, halfling?  And  _ now _ you think to be shy?”

 

The blush spread to the tips of Bilbo’s ears.  “That was  _ different,” _ he insisted.

 

“And how is that?”

 

“We were… roughing it!  There weren’t proper accommodations for private baths.  And- and it was not just the two of us. It was not so… intimate.”

 

Thorin stared at Bilbo intently, then pushed off the wall and stalked towards him.  Bilbo forced himself not to back away.

 

“Is it not the right of the King to go anywhere in his kingdom that he pleases?”  He barely waited for Bilbo to respond before going on. “And is it not prudent for the owner of something precious not to take his eyes off the thief who is apt to steal it?  Did you not only yesterday subject yourself to me, put yourself at the mercy of my whims, give yourself to me to do with as I see fit?” One of his claws traced the golden leash that Bilbo hadn’t even realized had been looped around his neck at some point. “Then do you really think, burglar, prisoner, pet, that you have  _ any _ right to ask me to leave?”

 

Instead of answering, Bilbo pulled his vest off over his head and then unlaced his trousers.  He thought, idly, that he must have lost more weight because they fell to the floor without having to be pushed.  Thorin, to his credit, kept his eyes on Bilbo’s the entire time. It was almost a battle of wills between them. Bilbo would disrobe, but Thorin would not look at him intimately.   They were testing each other’s resolve.

 

When a draft blew through the room, Bilbo broke their stare and hurried toward the bath.  He was nearly to it when he heard Thorin’s breath hitch and then hiss out sharply. Bilbo looked over his shoulder, trying to see the source of Thorin’s displeasure, and found Thorin’s eyes on his back.  Bilbo could not crain his neck far enough to see it well, but he could imagine that the bruise there was a gruesome sight. There were others as well, littered on his legs and arms and likely even ones around his throat, but none were nearly as large or vivid as the one on his back.

 

Part of Bilbo wanted to stay still, to let Thorin wallow in the guilt of what he’d done.  But wasn’t the fact that he was feeling guilt at all a dwarven trait and not a draconian one?  Bilbo did not hold the dragonsicknesses crimes against Thorin. He could not forget that he, too, had once felt the insidious pull of the arkenstone.  He had taken it, knowing what it was, without yet the noble plan to ransom it for peace. He had seen it and wanted it, and so taken it even at the risk of Thorin’s wrath.  For a hobbit to be so swayed by a gem, to want it more than he wanted the trust and happiness of someone he loved, even if that weakness only lasted a short while, spoke greatly of the power of the thing.

 

No, Bilbo did not blame Thorin for the dragonsickness. Forgiveness of his sins would be granted the moment he cared enough to ask.  And this, the look of horror in Thorin’s eyes, the shame coloring his cheeks, was penance enough for now. Bilbo took the last few steps to the tub and lowered himself in the warmed water.

 

Almost immediately, he felt better.  As though his bodies buoyancy in the water lightened his heart as well.  Despite the outbursts and violence, Thorin was actually handling the situation far better than Bilbo had expected.  After only a few days under the arkenstone’s thrall, Thorin had been ready to throw Bilbo to his death for taking it.  Having been secluded with it for years, Bilbo assumed the madness and cruelty would have grown to unimaginable proportions.

 

It was possible that Thorin’s actions on the battlements had been brought on by not only the dragonsickness but also shock.  That, under other circumstances, he would have regretted his treatment of Bilbo, asked forgiveness for letting the heat of his anger overcome his rationality.  Perhaps the arkenstone did not turn dwarves into bloodthirsty beasts entirely, but instead heightened their naturally passionate emotions?

 

There too, was the possibility that Thorin was simply  _ lonely. _  He’d been without any living companion for  _ years. _  His desire for the simple presence of another being might outweigh his wrath.  Dead hobbits made for poor company.

 

But even if both of those were true - and Bilbo suspected they were, to some extent - neither of them explained why Thorin had looked so  _ distraught _ at the sight of Bilbo’s injuries.  No, that came from something else. Something of a far more tender nature, something they had never spoken of and only allowed to show in that one moment in Laketown.

 

Thorin was still in there, wild heart and indomitable spirit,  _ waiting _ to be freed.  Bilbo would not fail him.

 

“Put this on your cuts.”  Thorin had stepped close to the tub while Bilbo had been lost in thought.  He shoved a small, dusty pot of salve into Bilbo’s hands and then practically fled the room.  A moment later the sound of scales and claws on stone faded away.

 

***

 

Bilbo took his time in the water, soaking his sore muscles, scrubbing away the grime of the journey, and enjoying the luxury of being a hobbit sized person in a dwarf sized tub.  When he finally got out, he liberally applied the salve to the scrapes around his throat and on his hands. After a brief debate, he once again looped the golden chain around his neck - albeit loosely - and then put on his clothes.  

 

By the time he was done, he’d worked up enough of an appetite to eat half of one of the little squares of lembas, followed by more cool water from the newly repaired font.  It wasn’t until he was ready for the day that he realized he wasn’t sure where to go. Thorin hadn’t returned. Bilbo didn’t want to wait in the water room all day, but nor did he want to provoke Thorin by seeming to wander around the mountain unsupervised.

 

He tarried, conflicted.  Eventually he put his head out into the hall and looked around.  A few feet from the door sat Thorin, crouched against the wall like a naughty child left there by their parent.  Bilbo smiled at the thought of Thorin being scolded by his mother.

 

Thorin saw him come out and scowled.  “And what have you to be so smug about?” he demanded crossly as he rose.  “If you think that I will continuously-”

 

“Would you like me to draw a bath for  _ you, _ my King?” Bilbo interrupted.  Thorin’s scowl deepened, then a wolfish smirk curled his lips.

 

“Are you trying to get me naked, halfling?  No need to be coy.”

 

Bilbo sputtered.  “For  _ bathing! _  To get clean!  Not for-  _ that.” _  Thorin’s smirk faded and he shook his head. 

 

“I am well enough as I am.”

 

“Does not your station merit the luxury of having your clothes freshly laundered for you while you relax in the finest bathing facilities Erebor has to offer?”

 

“Perhaps it does, though these are hardly the finest that Erebor boasts.  But some other time, maybe.” He turned and walked away, obviously expecting Bilbo to follow.  Bilbo did, glad at least that Thorin hadn’t returned to using the leash, and that with a torch lit in the distance it was not necessary for him to be led.

 

They returned to the treasure room without sidetracking.  If Thorin noticed Bilbo’s reluctance, he did not comment on it.  It was only a moment’s hesitation, however, because there was yet another torch lit across the room.  It must have been placed somewhere behind Thorin’s throne, for it was within the circle of light.

 

It was almost a relief for Bilbo to see that the throne was carved of gold.  Certainly it was not helping Thorin’s dragonsickness, but the gold was a less gruesome sight than he’d feared.  Bilbo wasn’t sure if he would have been willing to kneel at the thing if it had been fashioned from the bones of goblins.

 

Up the steps they climbed until they reached the throne, then Thorin sat himself regally upon it.  Bilbo remained standing, thinking that perhaps Thorin might be thinking of him somewhat more kindly and offer him a real seat - but it was not to be.  Thorin let out an irritated huff.

 

“Do you plan to stand there perpetually, or will you at some point deign to lower yourself?”

 

“I- certainly, your majesty.”  Forcing himself not to be disheartened, Bilbo sank to his knees and then sat back on his heels, resigning himself to aching limbs once more.  Truly, he did not expect Thorin to be recovered in the span of a single day. The fact that he was back to where he had started was not a bad thing.  It could have been significantly worse, after all. And really, this was better than it had been before, because Bilbo was no longer blind. That was no small blessing.

 

Taking advantage of the light, Bilbo studied Thorin.  What little he’d seen of the king when Gandalf had been present had not left a favorable impression.  He hadn’t magically taken the form of a dragon or anything so drastic, but he  _ had _ taken on several alarming draconian features.  His feet had become scaled, clawed things leading to thickly built legs that were also covered in the dark scales.  In some patches, Bilbo could see skin beneath them and it seemed as though they faded around his waist, then began again at his sternum.

 

Thorin was looking around the treasure chamber, narrowing and widening his eyes as he apparently adjusted to having light in the room for the first time in a long while.  Even in his relaxed position, Bilbo could see how powerfully built his arms were, how broad his shoulders. Thorin had always been large for a dwarf, but he seemed to have only grown larger during his time in the mountain.  Wider, Bilbo would have understood, but  _ taller? _  How was that even possible?  Would his height return to normal when they cured the dragonsickness?

 

It seemed a frivolous thing to worry over, but Bilbo hoped they did. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said that the Thorin of before had been a pleasant size.  Bilbo didn’t much care for being loomed over. Thorin’s stature had mostly prevented that, and it had been almost a bond of sorts, between Bilbo and the dwarves.  They were none of them as tall as men or elves or wizards, but they were whole and fierce all the same.

 

Now, Thorin loomed over Bilbo worse than any of the Big Folk ever had.  He was a walking beast, designed to hunt and rend. If it were not for his face, Bilbo would be terrified at the sight of him.  But the eyes were just as he’d seen yesterday, clear, bright blue that belonged to Thorin alone. His nose, too, retained the nearly cutting slope that made his face so arresting.  His mouth was somewhat distorted by the elongated fangs, but the rest was enough.

 

He was still handsome to Bilbo, which told him that he either had proclivities he’d never dreamed of, or that his devotion to Thorin was far deeper than what the eye could see.  Bilbo had never considered himself a vain or shallow sort of person, but he thought that even the most understanding lover might be taken aback by such changes. And Bilbo did not even have the benefit of them ever having  _ been _ lovers.

 

“If you’ve finished staring at me, tell me a tale.”

 

Bilbo jumped a little and flushed at having been caught in his perusal.  “What sort of tale would your majesty like to hear?” Bilbo was not in the mood to be interrupted again as he had been the night before.

 

“Tell me of your return to the Shire - leaving out the ridiculous descriptions of the sunshine and grass.”

 

“Well that’s half the charm of the Shire, but as your majesty commands,” Bilbo said somewhat crossly.  “It was a far easier return than the initial journey had been, not the least of which was indeed because of the sunshine.  Gandalf and I stayed with Beorn for a while, and he was an exceptional host. He even gave me a whole box of seeds that I could plant along with my acorn.  And of course we stayed for a time with Elrond as well. I’m sure a dwarf might not have enjoyed the lodgings, but I found them very pleasant indeed. His library is unparallelled, and I was gifted with extensive use of it.  I could have spent years translating and copying various texts, if I had not been so intent on returning to my own home. As it was, I had enough stored in my head to busy myself writing the tales in my own hand when I made it back to the Shire.”

 

“Is that what you did when you finally reached your longed for home and hearth?  Write out elvish books in Westrion?” There was no missing the thread of disdain in Thorin’s tone.

 

“Not most of my time, in fact, though that would have been a very diverting pursuit, if my heart had been in it.”

 

“It wasn’t, then?”

 

Bilbo sighed.  “No, it wasn’t.  To be honest, there was not much in the Shire that I felt my heart  _ was _ in.  I discovered on our quest that the world is a much bigger place than I ever imagined.  And while there was comfort to be had in returning to a small life in a small place, it felt empty in a way that it never had before.  As though - something was missing.”

 

As though  _ someone _ was missing.  Bilbo closed his mouth before the words could escape.  Thorin did not need to know that Bilbo had spent so much time grieving over his assumed death, or that there had been times he’d so longed for the sound of Thorin’s voice raised in song that he’d  _ ached _ with it.

 

“What  _ did _ you do then, if your usual diversions were lacking their charm?”

 

“I did write some.  Our tale, in fact. It isn’t finished, not by a long shot, but it has a very respectable start.  And I watched Hamfast Gamgee tend to the garden, though I never gave him Beorn’s seeds to plant. It didn’t seem… right.  I spent a lot of time avoiding unwanted relatives, too. I actually returned while they were in the midst of auctioning off my things, if you can believe that!  There was my dratted cousin Lobelia buying my mother’s silverware. It took ages to sort out that mess.”

 

Thorin chuckled.  “I suppose they will be at it again, now that you’ve gone off once more.”

 

“Oh no, I put an end to that.  In the event of another extended absence, my solicitor is to wait  _ three _ years before presuming me dead, and then Bag End and all its contents go to my youngest cousin Prim and her husband Drogo.  They’ll be far better caretakers of Bag End.”

 

“Did you put your affairs in order expecting never to return from this second journey?”

 

“No, nothing so morbid as all that.  Such a rude homecoming made me realize how irresponsible it was of me to have no arrangements made at all.  It was the responsible thing to do, really. Besides, there are few enough folk in the Shire that I like well enough to want my things to end up with, now.”

 

“You lost friends?”

 

“They were little of that before, if a bit of impropriety was enough to set them against me.  But the Shire is a place where little ever changes, and those that do are considered strange indeed.  There is much comfort to be had in the constancy of my home, but it seemed as though I had been altered without realizing it, and the fit was never exactly the same again.”

 

“It does not sound as though you were happy.”

 

“Is that what you want to hear, Thorin?  That I went back to everything I had longed for but couldn’t enjoy it?  That I was miserable in the only place I had ever called home, and that must be some sort of just comeuppance?”

 

“Those are  _ your _ words, not mine.”

 

Bilbo sighed and didn’t reply.  He  _ had _ been unhappy in the Shire.  For all the reasons he’d told Thorin, yes, but more as well.  Doubts had plagued him - would things have gone better, or worse, if he’d given Thorin the arkenstone right away?  Could Kili and Fili have survived if Thorin had been in the battle, or would they all have died instead? Was there anything Bilbo could have done to draw Thorin out of the mountain before the explosion?

 

And of course, every storm had forced him to relive those horrifying moments when he’d thought Thorin’s life was ended.  It had been no real way to live. Bilbo could admit that now, though he’d stubbornly clung to the idea that he was content enough.

 

“I’m leaving,” Thorin said, startling Bilbo from his thoughts.  Bilbo made to rise, assuming he would be following the king, but Thorin stopped him and instead unwound the chain from around Bilbo’s neck.  He looped the end of it over the arm of his throne. Bilbo blinked at it in shock. “Stay here.”

 

What madness was this?  Was Thorin trying to remind Bilbo of how little he thought of him, that he would leave Bilbo leashed to his chair as one might leave a dog?  Was it some sort of test? For certainly Bilbo could either remove the collar from his neck, or untie the length of chain from the arm of the throne.  What could the point be, except to humiliate him? And why choose to do so now, when things had been going reasonably well?

 

“Your majesty?”

 

“What,” Thorin growled, already stepping away from the throne, his eyes distant.

 

“You want me to…. stay here?  Like this?”

 

“That is what I said.  Are those elf-like ears of yours incapable of hearing correctly, or are you questioning my authority?”

 

Bilbo subsided, stung.  “Neither, your majesty.”

 

“Good.”  Thorin turned back and went quickly down the steps.  Then, he vanished from the treasure room, leaving Bilbo staring after him.


	5. Chapter 5

Bilbo waited on his knees for as long as he deemed reasonable, then changed to a more comfortable position.  He was half tempted to use the throne as a bed just because Thorin was not there to stop him, but decided that the fallout from such a thing would not be worth the satisfaction of being cheeky.

 

Eventually he slept, curled on his side at the foot of the throne and thinking very uncharitable thoughts about stubborn, enigmatic dwarves.

 

Some time later, he woke with a start.  The torch had burned so low that at first, he could not see what had roused him.  Standing just at the edge of the weakening glow of light was Thorin. His face was in shadow, but Bilbo sensed something had changed.  He was not as relaxed, as open, as he had been earlier. He looked much the way he had when they had first found him. Bilbo suppressed a shiver.

 

“Take off your shirt,” Thorin said softly.  Bilbo searched the darkness where Thorin’s eyes were hidden, hoping to find some comfort there.  None was to be found.

 

“My King?”

 

“Your shirt, halfling.  Remove it.”

 

Bilbo waited as long as he dared, then slowly raised his fingers to the buttons of his waistcoat.  After it was shed, he waited. Thorin made an impatient sound.

 

“The rest of it.”

 

“Thorin-”

 

“Still your tongue if you cannot address me respectfully, burglar.  Your king gave you a command.”

 

Bilbo swallowed and removed his vest.  His bare skin prickled in the chill air.  He felt more vulnerable now than he had even when he’d stood completely naked before Thorin the previous day.

 

Thorin gave a hum of satisfaction and sat down.  There were several things twined around his claws, gold and jewels that glinted in the now rapidly diminishing torchlight.  “Stand here.” He pointed to the space directly in front of his throne. Numbly, Bilbo did as commanded.

 

The torch sputtered, making the light flicker eerily, then went out.  A moment later, cold metal pressed against Bilbo’s skin. He jumped.

 

“Th- your majesty?”

 

“What?”

 

“The torch… its gone out.”

 

“Has it?”  Thorin didn’t sound concerned as he continued draping things over Bilbo.  “I can see you perfectly well.” The implication made Bilbo shiver. He opened his mouth, but could not think of anything to say.  Thorin slid cuffs onto his arms. Then, what felt like a gem was pressed into his navel.

 

Suddenly, Bilbo’s discomfort turned to exasperation.  He must look absurd, an underweight hobbit draped in priceless treasure.  Bilbo had never considered himself ugly by any means, but he was not  _ beautiful. _  The only thing that he’d once been able to claim was  appealing about him was that he’d possessed a properly soft hobbit-like form, and that had been gone since the quest.  What possible pleasure could Thorin get from doing this? It was ridiculous. Bilbo was about to say as much when he felt a blunted tip of one of Thorin’s claws trace over his skin.

 

“I would have given you these, once.  Before you betrayed me.” The hiss was back in Thorin’s voice.  “I would have gifted you with enough jewels that you would never have to wear the same ones twice.  You would have been the envy of every dwarf in Erebor.”

 

“I would never have been able to get so much treasure back to the Shire.”

 

“You would  _ not _ have returned to the Shire.”

 

“It is my home, your majesty, as Erebor is yours.  Why would I not have returned to it?”

 

Thorin let his claw trace lightly over Bilbo’s skin.  It paused briefly just at the edge of his nipple, then grazed over it.  Bilbo gasped. “I believe you could have been… enticed to stay.”

 

“Thorin-”  Bilbo’s voice wavered when he felt the heat of Thorin drawing closer to him, then a wet rasp against his neck.  Thorin ran the tip of his tongue against the underside of Bilbo’s jaw. The sharp points of fangs pressed against his delicate skin, but didn’t break it.

 

“You would have been a consort worthy of a king,” Thorin whispered.  “My greatest treasure.” The claw tracing Bilbo’s ribs was replaced by the hot press of Thorin’s hand.  It slid down, ghosting against the waist of his trousers. “But that was before you betrayed me.”

 

Bilbo staggered when Thorin’s touch was suddenly withdrawn.  He felt as cold as Thorin’s voice had become.

 

“Now you’ll only wear these when I want to see you in them.”  He began to roughly pluck the gold and jewels off of Bilbo. “A doll for me to dress up or strip down for my amusement.  A thief that must be kept under watch lest he go after what is  _ truly _ my greatest treasure.”

 

The gem in Bilbo’s navel was plucked away last, cast into the void of darkness around them.  Bilbo stood frozen, afraid to do more than breathe.  _ This _ was the dragonsickness.  This was the madness that the gold and the arkenstone sparked in Thorin’s blood.  He had seemed so reasonable earlier that Bilbo had almost let himself hope that the worst was behind them.  He had not expected it to rise up again so suddenly. What had set Thorin off?

 

A single claw tipped finger slipped beneath the waist of Bilbo’s trousers and he could not stifle his squeak of surprise and fear.  Something coiled in his gut, anticipation and terror mingled together. Bilbo’s mind found the idea of Thorin touching him sexually in these circumstances utterly abhorrent - but his body held no such convictions.  It did not seem to care that Thorin’s words were cruel, or that he was more serpent than dwarf. It felt the gentle touch of the male it had craved and longed for, and it offered no resistance.

 

Thorin’s hand slid further down, and Bilbo found his voice.  “Please-” his voice broke. Thorin’s hand stilled, then withdrew until only a finger remained, hooked under the waist of his trousers.  He tugged Bilbo forward with it. Bilbo stumbled against Thorin’s chest, putting out his hands to steady himself and then pulling them away when they met bare skin and scale.

 

Wordlessly, Thorin began arranging Bilbo until he was curled against Thorin’s side, his head pillowed against firm muscle.  There was a pause, and then something skimmed through Bilbo’s hair. A moment later, it returned. Thorin was petting his head.

 

Bewildered, Bilbo squirmed.  A hand came down firmly against his backside and the squirming stopped immediately.  “What… what are you doing?”

 

“Stroking my pet.”

 

Bilbo wanted to protest that he was not an animal.  He wanted to demand that Thorin put him down, give him his own space.  But while there was some part of him rebelling at Thorin treating him like a pet, there was a larger part of him that was greedy for the affection, in whatever form it came.

 

Was it really such a bad thing to be half naked and against Thorin’s side, warmed by him, caressed innocently by him?  It was a ridiculous thing to object to, considering he’d thought Thorin would toss him to his death the night before. Perhaps, if Thorin’s hands had strayed somewhere lower, if the touches had been less pure, he might have found it within himself to protest.

 

Instead, Bilbo let himself take comfort in the strange embrace and fell asleep.

 

***

 

Bilbo had begun to lose track of time.  Deep inside the mountain, there was no way to tell when it was light or dark, and so no way to accurately mark the passing of days.  Most of the time, Bilbo felt rested when he woke, so he guessed he was sleeping enough, but there was no way of knowing.

 

He was beginning to see how Thorin had lost track of the years he’d spent here, especially with the arkenstone to consume his thoughts.

 

Instead of marking the passing of days, Bilbo measured time by events.  When he woke again after Thorin had dressed him in gold, Thorin had relit the torches and requested Bilbo attend him in a bath.  Eager to help Thorin shed the mindset of a beast, Bilbo agreed wholeheartedly. 

 

He had politely averted his eyes from Thorin’s nakedness as he helped the King undress without shredding his clothes, then quickly washed the tattered garments while Thorin soaked.  He’d been surprised to discover that when clean, the scales were not so dark. They were a ruddy crimson, almost the color Thorin’s cheeks dusted when he blushed. It seemed far less sinister.

 

They had passed time quite companionably after that, Bilbo eating the last of the lembas bread and telling Thorin stories of his time with the elves.  Thorin didn’t want to hear about the ‘tree-shaggers’ at first, but Bilbo had focused his tales on the more comical aspects of his stay, like the time he’d seen one of Elrond’s advisors trip and fall into a pond, or when the cook had once mixed up ingredients in the soup - making it nearly inedible - but all the elves had been too polite to say something so they had grit their teeth and eaten it, one grimace inducing bite at a time.

 

Thorin had deeply enjoyed those stories.

 

But eventually that little bout of domesticity had ended when Thorin had left Bilbo to rest.  He’d even given Bilbo his freshly cleaned cloak to use as bedding before disappearing to wherever he went off to.

 

When he returned, Thorin had gone and the mad King under the Mountain had returned in full force.  Bilbo was relegated to his knees once more, kept there for hours while Thorin ranted about treachery, greed, and the glory of the arkenstone.

 

Eventually, it had been a rather loud grumble from Bilbo’s empty stomach that had pulled Thorin from his raving.  He’d left shortly after. Bilbo had feared that he would return worse than when he’d left, but instead, Thorin’s eyes had been clear and he’d been carrying a savaged boar carcass.

 

Though gruesome, dressing the boar had been almost pleasant.  It reminded Bilbo of their time on the quest, eating what they could hunt and cook over a campfire.  Even without spices, the roasted boar had been exceptionally good after the monotony of the lembas bread.  And Thorin had shared the meal with him, which Bilbo was quite pleased about even though he’d devoured his portion like a warg.

 

After the meal, there had been a long stretch of peace.  Bilbo was even beginning to think that Thorin’s scales had receded a bit.  But eventually he went off again, and returned in a beastly mood. Bilbo had made the mistake of asking Thorin to let him go relight the flickering torch, which had set Thorin off snarling about Bilbo’s plans to steal from him.  Thorin had shaken him so hard that Bilbo’s ears rang, and when he struck out blindly to try and stop the abuse, Thorin had hit him back. Even a glancing blow with those claws was enough to slice skin.

 

Most of the cuts were on Bilbo’s arm where he’d raised it to defend himself, but one of them ran through his eyebrow and to the bridge of his nose.  The sight of the blood seemed to shock them both equally. Thorin watched, his eyes wide, as it welled up and then began to stream down Bilbo’s face.  He backed away, first one step, then another, until his foot was suspended over empty air and he skidded down the steps. Bilbo wiped the blood from his eyes in time to see Thorin flee the treasure room.

 

He would have liked to go after Thorin with a cudgel and beat him until the dragonsickness left him.  He would have liked to curl up in a ball and weep until exhaustion stole him away to sleep. But blood was still pouring down his face, the torch was dying, and Bilbo didn’t have the luxury of indulging in  _ wants. _  What he needed was to clean and bind his cuts.  He needed the torch to get out of the treasure room, so he could not wait and risk it going out.

 

Functioning on mostly sheer determination, Bilbo got the torch, made his way to the water room, and cleaned the slashes.  They weren’t as bad as the amount of blood had led him to believe, but they were unpleasant enough. He used his now bloodstained vest to bind his arm and staunch the bleeding on his face.

 

When he returned to the treasure room with a fresh torch, he was greeted with the sight of his blood on the dias.  He sat in Thorin’s throne, not caring what the king might think of it. The king could kiss his pale arse. He knew all the reasons that Thorin’s actions were not his fault.  He knew that it was the cursed arkenstone making Thorin paranoid and vicious - he sometimes suspected that when Thorin vanished, it was to wherever he’d hidden the stone, and being close to it undid any progress Bilbo made with him.

 

Still, Bilbo was beginning to wonder just how much cruelty he could take.  It was not his fortitude that was in question. If Bilbo knew that there was a certain amount of rage Thorin needed to let out, and then the arkenstone’s hold on him would dissipate, Bilbo would gladly be Thorin’s outlet.  If it was something that could be measured in days or drops of blood shed, Bilbo would pay whatever price was needed.

 

But there didn’t seem any end to this.  It was a vicious cycle that kept them both prisoner.  Bilbo’s life hadn’t been much of a life after his return from the quest, but it was still his, and he was fully aware of his own worth.  He did not deserve Thorin’s wrath - not like this. And Thorin did not deserve the pain Bilbo could see in his eyes every time he lashed out.  There was always one terrible moment of clarity, when Thorin was shocked out of his madness and made to witness what he’d done. Even if he knew it was the dragonsickness making him so savage, it was still  _ his _ hands carrying out the deeds.

 

Bilbo’s Thorin, the one he had come to know on the journey to Erebor, the one who valued the lives of his fellows and had embraced Bilbo as confidant and friend, would despise himself for his actions now.

 

Was it cruel to remain in the clutches of the beast and force the true Thorin to be awoken over and over again to the sight of Bilbo’s suffering?

 

If those were the only two pieces of the time they spent together, then Bilbo would already be taking the torch and looking for a way back out of the mountain.  That wasn’t the extent of the time they spent together, though. There were the moments in between, where they could talk and even laugh. Where the sickness wasn’t entirely gone, but it receded enough for Bilbo to think that even if Thorin never totally recovered, even if Bilbo spent the rest of his life in this dark mountain, it would be  _ enough. _

 

For now, it was still enough.  But he knew that the limit of that was finite, and that one day, it might run out.


	6. Chapter 6

When Bilbo awoke again, it was to a strange grinding sound.  One side of his face throbbed lightly so he did not sit up right away, but contented himself with trying to figure out what was making the noise.  There was a sharp crack, then splintering, then more grinding. Unable to possibly conceive what was going on, Bilbo opened his eyes and gingerly pushed upright.

 

He’d fallen asleep in the throne, which was more comfortable than the floor beside it, but still did not make for the best bed. He was stiff, and the cuts on his arm and forehead throbbed even more fiercely when he was moving.  All of that seemed unimportant, though, in the face of the sight that greeted him.

 

Thorin was sitting cross legged at the top of the stairs, looking more dwarf-like than Bilbo had seen him since coming to the mountain.  He snapped off another claw with his fangs and spat it off the dias, then gnawed on the stump to try and file it down. He had already finished both feet and one hand.  The effect was drastic. Instead of vicious claws that mimicked those of a dragon, it almost looked as though he simply had very tough, black fingernails.

 

Intent on his task, Thorin did not notice Bilbo watching him yet.  Thorin’s claws, Bilbo noticed, were not the only change. There were more torches, both behind the throne and leading out of the treasure room.  To Bilbo’s right was a pile of dust covered candles and tapers.

 

Whether they were penance or simply Thorin’s way of trying to prevent what happened the night before from ever happening again, Bilbo didn’t care.  They were more signs of the Thorin that Bilbo was doing this for, the dwarf struggling to rise from beneath the crippling influence of the dragonsickness.

 

Not wanting to startle Thorin, Bilbo cleared his throat delicately.  Thorin turned sharply and inhaled, choking on a bitten off claw in the process.  Bilbo rushed to his side and thumped him on the back as he hacked it back up, his cheeks as red as his scales.

 

“Bilbo!”  Thorin tossed away the offending chunk of claw as soon as it had left his windpipe, then pushed to his feet.  “How- how are you?”

 

“Not choking to death,” Bilbo said with a smile.  Thorin’s nose wrinkled in a self-deprecating grimace.  “Otherwise, I’m well enough.”

 

Thorin studied him as if to try and see the honesty of his words.  “We should… these should be cleaned again. And dressed with proper bandages.  I thought, perhaps, we could try to find more today. If you like. Together.” He rubbed the back of his neck, then frowned.  “Or I could go on my own and you could rest, if you need it. Whichever you prefer.”

 

“I’d be happy to go with you searching, if you’re offering.  But don’t let me interrupt you before you’ve finished.” Bilbo gestured to the two claws left on Thorin’s hand.  Thorin flushed even more darkly and put his hands behind his back.

 

“Oh, that?  That’s - nothing.  Let’s just…” He nodded his head at the door, still keeping his hands hidden from view.  Bilbo thought he looked like a child who’d gotten caught doing something naughty. It was a strange look on the King under the Mountain, last of the line of Durin, ruler of Erebor.  Strange, but endearing.

 

Bilbo smiled and went down the steps first, letting Thorin keep his dignity.

 

***

 

The bandages Thorin had already found were left beside the water basin.  He waited outside the door while Bilbo cleaned himself and bound the wounds, removing the last two claws while he waited if the occasional cracking sounds were any indication.

 

Once he was finished, they started down one of the unblocked paths, eating dried boar strips as they went.  Thorin knew the general direction to go to get to personal chambers that might contain clothes and more supplies, but many of the routes were impassable, forcing them to take creative detours.  

 

Eventually they found a set of rooms that had housed a family.  Bilbo might have objected to being dressed in a dwarf child’s clothes, but they were reasonably clean and looked durable, so he put his pride aside and stepped into them.  Thorin would have been content to only get things for Bilbo, but after a short speech from the hobbit about clothes befitting a king, he relented and dressed in the larger outfits Bilbo had found.

 

At the last moment, Thorin grabbed the bedding as well, muttering something about poor sleeping arrangements.

 

Dressed in clean outfits, carrying spare ones and some supplies, and trailing blankets behind them, they made their way back to the treasure room.  The time they spent together after that was the best Bilbo had spent in Thorin’s company since entering Erebor - the first time or the second.

 

Thorin’s eyes did not seem to struggle as much with the light, and with his claws gone, he indulged in more frequent contact with his companion.  Bilbo, for his part, enjoyed the small, soft touches immensely. Thorin’s hands were rough but warm, and when not actively seeking violence, were incredibly gentle.  It felt almost like wooing. Like the way they might have courted, had fate been kinder to them. It was innocent, for all that they were both grown men with no qualms about their bodies’ urges.

 

Bilbo taught Thorin a game young hobbits played with pebbles and stones, using gold and jewels instead.  Thorin showed Bilbo the dwarven version of a similar game, and they played it, each using the rules of their childhood and calling the other a cheat with laughter.

 

When the torch burned low, Bilbo found himself yawning.  Though Thorin offered to light another, Bilbo told him to let it be.  They lit a candle instead, and Bilbo settled himself down into the pallet of blankets they had made.  Haltingly, awkwardly, Thorin followed him. His hulking frame seemed out of place on the bedding and beside the hobbit, but Bilbo smiled at him in sleepy welcome.

 

Thorin reached out and ran his finger along the edge of the bandage over Bilbo’s eyebrow.  “I’m sorry,” he said softly. Bilbo blinked at him, surprised, but pleased.

 

“My forgiveness is yours, Thorin.  All you ever need to do is ask it.”

 

“Bilbo.”  Thorin leaned closer, churning emotion bright in his eyes.  His breath skated across Bilbo’s face, then slowly, cautiously, he pressed their lips together.  Bilbo let out a long, slow exhale through his nose as he melted into the kiss. It wasn’t like the one they’d shared in Laketown, no, but it was almost better.

 

Thorin was still impaired, by the dragonsickness and not alcohol.  The arkenstone would not lead Thorin to kiss someone simply because they were on hand, or out of revelry.  If anything, it would inhibit his ability to express this much affection, and to do so with such tenderness.  It was astonishing that he was capable of it still, after so much time in the arkenstone’s thrall and surrounded by a sea of gold.

 

A sign of the depth of his feeling for Blbo?

 

Trying not to let his heart get ahead of his reason, Bilbo caressed Thorin’s face and then pulled back.  They simply stared at each other for a long while, sharing breath. Thorin looked as though he might either shift away or draw Bilbo closer for another kiss, but instead pressed his lips softly to Bilbo’s forehead and whispered, “sleep,  _ bunnanunê.” _

 

Bilbo had no idea what Thorin had just called him, but by the tone of his voice and the way it made warmth bloom in his chest, he thought it was safe to assume it was something sweet.

 

***

 

Bilbo awoke an indeterminable amount of time later.  The candle had gone out, but he made no move to relight it.  Something was different.

 

For the first time since he’d arrived, Thorin was asleep.  His body was pressed close to Bilbo’s, his breath coming in slow, even pulls.  Bilbo wished he could see Thorin’s face in repose, but didn’t dare risk waking him.  He wondered how much Thorin had slept in the last few years. It was possible that Thorin slept wherever he went off to - presumably wherever he had the arkenstone hidden - but Bilbo doubted it.  More likely he had been foregoing sleep altogether, which must have been only feeding the madness within him. He needed rest, needed time for his body to replenish itself and his mind to shed its burdens.

 

Hopefully, his sleeping now was a sign of his more dwarven traits returning.  Already there had been many positive changes. He ate with Bilbo regularly, his manners becoming more and more refined as they had been.  The putrescent refuse room Bilbo had seen upon first entering the mountain had been burned out, allowing them both to relieve themselves in a far more civilized manner.  With the claws cut down, Thorin could touch things properly again, could even craft gold, which he’d admitted he hadn’t been able to do in a long, long time.

 

The clothes they’d found for him were snug, yes, but they were wearable.  Thorin had been large for a dwarf to begin with, and the draconian changes had only made him larger.  That he was currently dressed in fresh clothes either meant that the dwarf who’s clothes he’d taken had been enormous, or he was slowly returning to his normal size.

 

They were, all of them, positive changes.  They gave Bilbo hope that things were moving in the right direction.  Yes, there were setbacks, but the progress they’d made already was astounding.  He wanted to kiss Thorin for the sheer joy of it, but refrained. There would be time for that later.  A lifetime, if luck was on his side.


	7. Chapter 7

When Thorin finally rose, neither of them mentioned his unexpected sleep.  Instead, they explored more of the mountain. Many of the items for day to day use had either rotted away or crumbled from disuse, but there were plenty that they could avail themselves of still, so they began putting things they collected in a pack.

 

They found soaps, oils, spices, tea, tobacco, and a comb and brush set that could be used for Bilbo’s feet and Thorin’s hair, respectively.

 

There was only one outburst to sour the otherwise enjoyable expedition, and it had happened when Bilbo started down a stairwell leading deeper into the mountain.  Thorin had grabbed him roughly and pulled him away. When Bilbo had looked at him for explanation, Thorin had snapped that there was nothing down that way.

 

Not wanting their pleasant companionship to be lost, Bilbo let the subject drop and they continued on in a different direction.  It still weighed on his mind, though. If there truly had been nothing down there, then Thorin would not have been so vehement in his removal of Bilbo from the vicinity.

 

It was possible that there were the corpses of half eaten goblins scattered about and he simply didn’t want Bilbo to see it, but it seemed a more likely possibility that Thorin had the arkenstone hidden somewhere in the depths of the mountain.

 

The first, unpleasant impulse he had was to sneak down and find it, just to look at it one more time.  Once that had been properly shamed away, his second was to consider how he might steal it and get it out of Thorin’s vicinity.  Bilbo was sure Thranduil would take it gladly, and promise to make sure Thorin never got it back, but if the results of the last time he’d tried that were anything to go by, it would not end well for him.  Besides which, he couldn’t be certain that simply removing the stone from the mountain would cure Thorin. The arkenstone had been out of Erebor for most of a day before the battle, and Thorin’s dragonsickness had not seemed improved.

 

It was the combination of the arkenstone and the ocean of gold together that made for the worst of the sickness, but either one on their own was enough to keep Thorin ill.

 

For the time being, Bilbo tried to force the location from his mind.  He did not need any insidious thoughts in his head, nor did he want to take any risks undoing everything they’d accomplished.

 

***

 

Eventually, they made their way back to the treasure room.  Each little thing that they had brought found a place on the dias, except for the bathing supplies that they’d left in the water room.

 

As they were setting the oils in a row - lamp, cooking, tanning, even a scented beard oil - Bilbo noticed Thorin’s eyes straying to the treasure around them.  They lingered particularly on the jewels. He tried to keep his focus on their task, but the siren call of the treasure seemed too great to resist. 

 

Bilbo had them play the pebble game again, hoping that holding gold in his hand for innocent purposes might sate his need without worsening his mind.  Three turns in, it became obvious that it was not working. Knowing what was coming and determined to do everything possible to stop it, Bilbo crawled into Thorin’s lap and kissed him again.

 

Distraction through kisses seemed to be a very effective means of forestalling the pull.  Thorin’s eyes stopped restlessly tracking the gold and instead closed in pleasure. Bilbo hummed into his mouth, uncaring that he’d started this with a purpose.  It was certainly pleasant, and Bilbo let himself fall deeper into the kiss until he’d almost forgotten it was meant to be practical, not simply enjoyable.

 

Still, it was only want, not necessity, that had Bilbo’s hands running along the breadth of Thorin’s shoulders and then straying down his back.  Slowly, as the kiss progressed, Bilbo’s touch slipped beneath Thorin’s shirt and met bare skin. Thorin groaned as it moved steadily up his flank to his chest.  Deft, clever fingers toyed with one of Thorin’s nipples, then the other.

 

Hungry for more, Bilbo kissed his way down Thorin’s jaw and neck, to the peak of his collarbones just barely visible beneath the collar of his shirt.  Thorin’s head tipped back to give him better access. He shuddered, then suddenly stilled. Bilbo’s head rose, afraid that he’d done something wrong, but it wasn’t  _ him _ that was the problem.  Thorin had opened his eyes with his head back, and he’d seen the gold.

 

The need, the desperation in his gaze had returned full force.  It could no longer be denied, not even by sweet kisses and bold caresses.  He pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s hair, half spoke an apology, and turned to leave.  Bilbo could only stare after him as he went.

 

He resigned himself to another night spent alone, and an unpleasant interaction when he woke.

  
  


***

 

The torches were still lit when Bilbo next opened his eyes, which was a pleasant surprise.  Usually, when Thorin went off, he did not bother to relight them when he came back. Bilbo sat up, thinking that maybe he had woken up after only a short nap, but no - Thorin had returned.  He had been watching Bilbo sleep, and the look on his face was not one of warm regard. It appeared… calculating.

 

Bilbo rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes and cleared his throat.  “Your majesty?”

 

“Awake at last,” Thorin drawled.  His tone was almost pleasant, but there was something else beneath it.  Something that Bilbo could not quite place. “Let’s go then.” He rose, clearly expecting Bilbo to follow in his wake.  Bilbo did.

 

They made the circuit which had become familiar, answering nature’s call, washing up, getting a drink and putting more water in a skein for later.  Thorin did not speak to Bilbo through any of it. When they returned to the treasure room they ate, and Thorin still did not utter a word. It was almost as though he was waiting for something.

 

This cold silence, the sick anticipation of what was to come, was worse than outright cruelty.  Bilbo would rather Thorin strike him than circle him like a viper. He considered provoking Thorin, hoping to get the worst of it out of the way, but if this change was a  _ good _ thing, if it meant that the arkenstone’s hold on Thorin was weakening, Bilbo did not want to drive him back to it so soon.

 

Instead, he tried his best to ignore the way Thorin watched him.  He tried to busy himself with a book they’d found on one of their expeditions, but realized he was reading the same words over and over without understanding them.  He was considering eating more simply to have something to do with his hands when Thorin suddenly spoke.

 

“Come here, halfling.”

 

Cautiously, Bilbo rose and walked closer to the throne.  At first he stopped off to the side, but Thorin gestured him closer, directly in front of him.  “Closer.” Thorin’s knees widened, and Bilbo shuffled between them. When Thorin still did not look satisfied, he braced his hands on the arms of the throne and leaned in.  Thorin smirked, either unaware or uncaring of how the position strained.

 

One of his hands rose up to cup Bilbo’s cheek. The touch was soft, his thumb feathering over Bilbo’s lips, then slid higher until he could trace the healing scratch across his eyebrow.

 

“Did I never mention before how comely I find you?”

 

Bilbo sucked in a breath at the unexpected compliment, his face going red.  He shook his head.

 

“A mistake.  I was a coward, before.  I was blind to all but my drive to reclaim Erebor.  All that is different now. I can finally see clearly.  I have everything my father and my father’s father fought for.  And I have you. My companion with a face as bright as morning dew and kisses twice as sweet.”  His hand dropped lower, to the crook where his shoulder and neck met. Thorin’s thumb stroked his adam’s apple as he swallowed.  “And I do have you, don’t I?”

 

Bilbo swallowed again.  Did he imagine that the pressure on his throat had increased ever so slightly?  “Of course you do.” He meant the words to sound confident, but they came out high and thin.  “I’m here, aren’t I?” Thorin hummed, obviously still doubtful.

 

“Even a king can possess a thing and still not own it.  Not have it  _ belong _ to him.”  He tugged Bilbo forward until his weight tipped, and Bilbo had to move his hands against Thorin’s chest to keep from crashing into him.  “Some things,” Thorin murmured, “need to be given freely in order to be owned.”

 

Bilbo’s head spun, both with the nearness of Thorin and the ring of his words.  There was deeper meaning to what he was saying, and Bilbo was struggling to understand it.  Was he insinuating that Bilbo did not belong in Erebor? That he could not truly be Thorin’s subject unless he submitted himself willingly?  But Bilbo  _ had _ done that.  He’d asked Thorin to allow him to remain and had pledged himself to the king of his own free will.

 

That wasn’t the phrase Thorin had used, though.  Not free will, but  _ given freely. _  It sounded familiar, tugging at some memory where he must have heard Thorin use those same words.  

 

Given freely.

 

Suddenly Bilbo’s heart began to pound.  A smirk curled Thorin’s lips as he saw comprehension dawn on Bilbo’s face.  Gandalf had accused Thorin of threatening to take Bilbo against his will. And Thorin - Thorin had said that he did not take things that were not given freely.

 

“You’ve subjected yourself as my prisoner, you’ve accepted me as your ruler.  But have you really  _ given _ yourself to me, halfling?”

 

“I-”  Bilbo felt his throat close and his words dry up.  What could he say? Was Thorin asking him to have sex?  Asking if he would protest if Thorin tried? Asking if he  _ wanted _ it?

 

He honestly didn’t know.

 

If Thorin had come to him after that night in Laketown and propositioned him, Bilbo would have gladly gone to Thorin’s bed.  He would not have cared how Thorin wanted him, just that Thorin  _ did _ want him.  He would have given himself confidently, wholly and without reservation.  He was  _ attracted _ to Thorin, of that there was no doubt.

 

But now…  Though Thorin hadn’t acted violently, the way he often did when he returned, he was still not himself.  There was almost a cruelty in this, in the way he was speaking of being with Bilbo in terms of possession instead of passion.  Bilbo had never considered that the madness within Thorin might want him this way. Would giving in feed it, or might it drive the sickness further out?

 

Bilbo wondered if it would be a sacrifice to lay with Thorin like this.  He did not want to share his body with Thorin out of a sense of duty, or fear.  Thorin - the  _ real _ Thorin - would not want that either. But if the thrumming of his pulse in his ears, the heat in his belly, was any indication… that wasn’t totally the case.  He wanted Thorin whole and untainted, yes, but he also wanted Thorin in whatever form he took. Dwarf or dragon, Bilbo loved him. It was the heart inside the flesh that drew him.

 

If his eyes had been glazed and distant as they often were when Thorin returned, Bilbo would have refused.  There was almost nothing left of him in those times. All that remained was the fanatical obsession with the arkenstone.  Now, though, Thorin’s eyes were clear. This was not solely the king, no, but he was still there.

 

Love, in whatever form it was expressed, could not be a bad thing.

 

“Yes, Thorin.”

 

The slight smile deepended, then fell away.  “Kiss me.” It was a command, but he did not make any move to force Bilbo to comply.  His confidence bolstered by that as much as anything else, Bilbo let the last of the distance between them close.  He pressed his lips to Thorin’s.

 

Thorin remained passive for only a moment, then took over the kiss entirely.  He crushed Bilbo against his chest, fingers twining in Bilbo’s hair to guide him.  The warm curl of Thorin’s tongue broached Bilbo’s lips, then slid inside. Bilbo moaned.

 

As though the sound had snapped Thorin out of a thrall, he suddenly pushed Bilbo back, chest heaving.  He swallowed thickly. “Again,” he demanded. Bilbo started to lean forward once more, but Thorin kept him back.  “No.” He shook his head slowly. “Lower.”

 

“Lo- Thorin?”  Bilbo’s startled eyes searched Thorin’s.  They stared steadily back at him, clear and flinty.   Bilbo had already made his decision, hadn’t he? Plucking up his courage, Bilbo slid off of Thorin’s lap and knelt on the floor between his thighs.  He waited a moment, but Thorin made no attempt to participate, only widening his knees and watching Bilbo steadily.

 

With fingers that were not quite steady, Bilbo unlaced Thorin’s trousers and tugged the placket of them open.  Aroused by their kiss, Thorin was already hard. The length and girth of him gave Bilbo pause, but he reminded himself that this was his choice, what he wanted, and Thorin had not shown any aggression thus far.  There was no reason to think that he would try and force his cock down Bilbo’s throat.

 

Trying to regain some of the closeness they had shared, Bilbo began by pressing teasing kisses along the dusky shaft.  He nuzzled Thorin, letting his tongue flick out only briefly until the muscles beneath his fingers were jumping.

 

“Bilbo-”  There was an edge of command in the word, but still Thorin did not try and push.  The fact that Thorin was using his name instead of calling him halfling or burglar was a comfort as well.  Satisfied, Bilbo let his mouth hover over the tip of Thorin’s cock, then engulf it.

 

Bilbo did not consider himself an expert in oral sex.  There was not a string of heartbroken lovers in the Shire, longing for his talented tongue.  There had been enough when he was younger though, lads and lasses, that he knew what to do. Thorin was certainly bigger than any he had done this to before, but a cock was a cock.  He remembered what had made his partners most excited and knew what he liked most himself. He plied all that knowledge in this act, trying to wring Thorin dry with pleasure.

 

Unsurprisingly, Bilbo was starting to get hard as well.  If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that the scales had fallen away entirely.  That Thorin was completely himself once more, and there was no chance that this was a test, or a trick, or that it was intended with anything but desire.  He could forget that they were on a golden throne in a golden desert, in an abandoned mountain where a cursed gem held sway. Instead, it could be just him and Thorin, and the attraction between them sparking to lust.

 

Perhaps it was contrary, but if Thorin had not asked for Bilbo’s submission, it would have been his unquestionably.  Bilbo could pretend, for a little while, that there was no dubious morality in what they were doing. He could imagine that Thorin had treated him kindly from the start, that he hadn’t considered Bilbo pet or property, and for that Bilbo was happy to belong to Thorin completely.

 

His inhibitions firmly pushed aside by the fantasy, Bilbo considered lowering one of his hands between his own legs and touching himself.  He wondered if Thorin would encourage it, or if he would want Bilbo’s pleasure for himself. He did not even know which  _ he _ wanted.

 

Thorin’s fingers slid into Bilbo’s hair and gripped.  A thread of unease curled in Bilbo’s belly, but there was no pressure.  Still, the action was enough to burst the bubble on his dream that they were anything but what they were.  Mad king and subject, ruler and prisoner, owner and pet.

 

It was with a sense of relief that Bilbo felt Thorin’s cock begin to jerk, his breaths coming in short gasps.  He braced himself to pull away, but Thorin’s hand in his hair suddenly became insistent, and Bilbo could not move back.  Thorin groaned and pulsed in Bilbo’s mouth, spilling hotly. Held immobile as he was, all Bilbo could do was swallow and try not to choke.  Any illusion he’d had about what they had just done was gone. He had willingly serviced his king. There had not been anything between them but dictation and compliance.

 

A strange sense of shame filled Bilbo, as if  _ he _ had done something wrong.  The problem was that, technically, Thorin hadn’t been in the wrong, either.  He had asked, and Bilbo had agreed. The fact that he had allowed himself to believe, to hope, that it had meant more, was his own fault.

 

He sat back as soon as Thorin released him, coughing.  He wiped his mouth and swore that the moisture in his eyes was from choking and not emotion.  It didn’t matter that this was how it had turned out. It  _ didn’t. _

 

And perhaps the worst part was that Bilbo knew if Thorin asked this of him again, he would agree just the same.  He would not let himself fall prey to a besotted fancy, no, but he would not turn Thorin down. Because he  _ did _ belong to Thorin, body and soul.

 

Thorin slowly caught his breath and looked down at Bilbo with a satisfied smile.  “It seems your talents are many and varied.”

 

“Indeed, my King.”  Bilbo could barely look at him.  Thorin’s smile twisted down and he slid his foot between Bilbo’s legs, nudging upward.

 

“For a moment there, I thought you were even enjoying yourself.”

 

“Perhaps, for a  _ moment, _ I might have been.”

 

“And if I want to see you enjoying yourself unobstructed?”

 

“Then I would tell you, respectfully, that the moment has passed.”

 

Thorin gave a hum of acknowledgement and set to tucking himself away.  When he was finished, he rooted around in the pile of treasure beside the throne until he came up with a delicate string of gold and pearls.  He leaned forward and wove it like a circlet through Bilbo’s hair.

 

“Maybe it will come again.  Shall I assume that, in the mean time, you have no objection to another such performance?”

 

Bilbo stared at him, long and hard.  “None, my King.” He waited until Thorin had turned to look at the gold around them once more before ripping the chain from his hair.

 

***

 

They had nearly finished the last of the boar, so shortly after their one sided coupling, Thorin left to get more food.  Bilbo offered to accompany him, thinking longingly of root vegetables or wild berries, but apparently Thorin had strong objections to Bilbo being outside the mountain.  For a moment, Bilbo thought that Thorin was going to leash him to the throne again. Thankfully, he refrained, though he did pull the heavy door to the treasure room closed behind him.

When he returned, Thorin was more himself.  If the blush that painted his cheeks any time Bilbo caught him staring was any indication, he was thinking about what they’d done earlier, and he was not nearly so cavalier about it now.

They dressed the rabbits in silence, then spent a long while preparing them in various ways that would provide them food for a stretch of time rather than a single meal.  When that was finished, Bilbo moved off on his own with the hides, thinking about tanning them and making a pair of gloves. Thorin watched him all the while, glancing quickly away when Bilbo caught him.

Later, when Bilbo settled himself into the pallet of blankets to sleep, Thorin  _ asked _ if he could join him.  Bewildered but touched, Bilbo held back the top blanket in invitation.  Thorin practically dove beneath it and quickly pulled Bilbo into his arms.  Wondering if this was some new form of penance or if Thorin was merely seeking comfort, Bilbo did not protest.  He let himself be cradled against Thorin’s chest, lulled by the steady beating of his heart, and drifted into sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is sex gone wrong in this chapter, folks. Proceed with caution.

Thorin was gone again when Bilbo woke, and the routine they’d fallen into changed.  Instead of long stretches of comfortable or even pleasant times interspersed with frenzied violence, Thorin left more frequently but his returns were less explosive.  They were colder. Rather than fiery emotion and physical confrontation, Thorin came back with quiet demands and an almost insidious level of control.

 

He repeated his request for Bilbo to suck his cock more than once, smirking each time Bilbo agreed as if he had won some sort of game.  Bilbo had not gotten hard again while doing so, and Thorin had not commented on it.

 

There were still times when Thorin was himself again, when they could talk and enjoy each other’s company, but there was little room for laughter.  Any time Bilbo laid down to rest, Thorin was there, asking wordlessly to hold him. Bilbo let him, even knowing that the affection would be gone when he woke.

 

For all the troubling aspects of their new routine, there was no denying the positive changes in Thorin physically.  His clothes were no longer stretched near to bursting on his frame. His fangs seemed duller. Each time Bilbo ran his hands along Thorin’s chest, it seemed as if the scales had retreated a little more.

 

He wondered if the arkenstone had changed tactics.  Was it sentient enough to do such a thing? Could it alter the way it affected Thorin’s mind?  And if so, would it realize that Thorin was actually further from its clutches now than before?

 

Each time Thorin returned to the treasure room, Bilbo held his breath until he could see Thorin’s eyes, afraid that the stone would once again switch tacs.  Every time they gleamed cold and flinty in the torchlight, Bilbo felt relief that he was facing a creature he knew. But the dread that someday soon that might not be the case, increased. 

 

It grew to such proportions that the day they  _ did _ change, there was almost some relief with that, too.

 

Thorin’s features were still sharp, still calculating, but his eyes were no longer cold.  They raked over Bilbo hotly. Bilbo put away the book he’d been reading while he waited for Thorin’s return and tried to see Thorin’s intentions in his body.  Would he revert to violence, only this time a more methodical approach? Would he unleash his cruel tongue on Bilbo, cutting him down until he could barely stand?  Could he have more sinister plans?

 

Instead of going to his throne as was Thorin’s usual habit, he went to where Bilbo sat on the blankets beside it.  He did not speak a single word of greeting before crashing his mouth against Bilbo’s. A twisting mix of pleasure and fear rose up in Bilbo’s chest, making him unsure if he wanted to wrap his arms around Thorin’s shoulders or shove him away.  This was unlike anything they’d done before. It was passion without love, lust without consideration.

 

Bilbo turned his face away, breaking the kiss.  “Thorin!” But rather than slow him down, Bilbo’s exclamation only increased Thorin’s urgency.  He tugged Bilbo’s shirt from his body then fumbled for the laces of his trousers. When the knot didn’t immediately loosen, he ripped them apart.   _ “Thorin!” _

 

“Are you still mine, halfling?” Thorin demanded, reaching above Bilbo’s head for something as he insinuated himself between Bilbo’s thighs.  “Do you still give yourself to me freely?”

 

“I- Thorin, what are you doing?”  Bilbo saw what was in Thorin’s hand and thought for one wild moment that Thorin was going to spread oil on him like a cracker and  _ eat _ him.  But the oil he had grabbed was not for cooking.

 

“I want you to belong to me completely,” Thorin whispered against Bilbo’s skin.  “You don’t yet. You can’t. Not till I have all of you.” The jar’s stopper clattered to the ground and rolled by Bilbo’s head.  “But you’re going to give yourself to me, aren’t you. You’re going to prove it wrong. Prove that you really are mine. That you’re willing to be the catamite to the king.  You’re eager for it.” Thorin’s hand fumbled, then slid wetly along the inside of Bilbo’s thigh. “I want to hear you moan with my cock in here-” Thorin’s finger pressed against the tight furl of skin, making Bilbo gasp sharply, “the way you moaned with it in your throat.”  The pressure increased until the slick digit breached muscle. “Tell me you want that.”

 

Bilbo took Thorin’s face in his hands and tilted it up until their eyes met.  His head was spinning, his body a jumble of mixed responses. Somewhere in the midst of Thorin’s advances, Bilbo’s cock had gotten half hard, eager for whatever attention Thorin might give it.  The rest of him, however, remained too tense for the thick finger inside him to feel anything but uncomfortable. Bilbo wanted to tell Thorin to stop, that he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to take this step while Thorin was so headily under the influence of the arkenstone.  But something Thorin had said kept playing over and over in his mind. 

 

_ You’re going to prove it wrong.  Prove that you really are mine. _

 

Had he been talking about the arkenstone?  Was that the ‘it’ that had Thorin convinced Bilbo wasn’t really his?  If it was, wouldn’t it be  _ better _ to assure Thorin once and for all that every bit of Bilbo was truly his?

 

It was too fast, too rough, too tainted by the dragonsickness to be their first time like this.  But Bilbo already knew he was going to say yes. He wanted to prove, to himself and to Thorin, that their connection was stronger than the bloody arkenstone.

 

“I have been yours from the moment I set off on this adventure with you, Thorin Oakenshield.  I have been your follower, your guide, your liberator, and your burglar. I have lived for you, and almost died for you.  I spent more than two years grieving for you. There is no part of me that does not want you. You, Thorin, my friend, King under the Mountain, rightful ruler of Erebor, last of the line of Durin, leader of the company that retook the dwarven home from Smaug.   _ You _ are who I choose, now and always.”

 

Thorin stared down at him, the almost fanatical look in his eyes softened to something warm.  Something tender. “Bilbo.” He placed a reverent kiss against Bilbo’s lips.

 

“Touch me,” Bilbo breathed.  He guided Thorin’s free hand to his cock, coaxing him to stroke it.  Eagerly, it rose to the attention. Thorin’s fingers were roughly calloused and perhaps a bit too firm in their handling of it, but Bilbo did not complain.  Instead he let himself revel in the first feel of Thorin deliberately pleasuring him. It wasn’t perfect, no, but it was still a decadent luxury he didn’t think he would ever grow tired of.   _ Thorin, _ stoic, hard-headed, regal Thorin, was stroking his cock.  Was crouched over him with open adoration on his face along with naked hunger.

 

Emboldened by Thorin’s touch, Bilbo let his own hands wander down, pulling at the lacing of Thorin’s trousers.  Thorin’s breath caught as they came loose. His erection strained against the fabric until it was pulled away. Bilbo opened his eyes and looked down at it.  It seemed almost comically large in Bilbo’s hand. Though it had been slowly returning to a more natural size along with the rest of Thorin’s body, it was still big enough to give any sane hobbit pause - especially considering what they were doing.

 

As if Thorin had heard the thought, the finger inside Bilbo began a slow withdraw and ingress.  The trespass was no longer unpleasant, though, and Bilbo relaxed enough to allow a second inside him.  Judging by the weight and breadth of the length in his hand, Bilbo thought it safe to assume he was going to need even more before he was sufficiently prepared.

 

With every kiss Thorin brushed across his face, Bilbo’s trepidation lessened.  He loved Thorin, wanted him, and there was plenty of oil at their disposal. They could do this.  He could give this to Thorin. And even if this time he was still too big for Bilbo to properly enjoy himself, he was content with the knowledge that there would be  _ more _ times.  Times when Thorin was his right and proper size.

 

Besides, though Bilbo had discovered that he preferred the passive position, he wasn’t  _ opposed _ to switching places if the occasion called for it.  And oh, wasn’t that thought enough to fuel many a lazy morning wank?

 

Bilbo was brought back to the moment by the stinging stretch of yet another finger.  Thorin’s stroking of his cock never stopped, which eased the discomfort. After waiting until Bilbo had once again relaxed, Thorin reached for more oil.  He moved his hand from Bilbo’s cock to slick his own, then dropped more liberally where his fingers were still delving. Satisfied with his preparation, he shifted back and shoved his trousers down further.

 

“Turn over.”

 

Bilbo looked up at him sharply, thinking that perhaps some of the madness had seeped back into him, but Thorin’s eyes were still clear.

 

“It will be easier,” Thorin explained.  “Trust me.”

 

Still a little disquieted, Bilbo complied.  He had no objection to the position. Not being able to see Thorin made him nervous, though.  He didn’t want to think that the connection they’d managed to make, strong enough to throw off the influence of the arkenstone, could be broken so easily… but not being able to see each other’s faces, to hold and caress, made the act more impersonal.

 

It was only the knowledge that Thorin was looking after Bilbo’s comfort - and correct about the position being more comfortable considering Thorin’s size - that kept him from voicing his objections and turning back over.

 

Thorin pressed a trail of kisses down Bilbo’s spine, then splayed his hand at the base of it to steady Bilbo, and began to press forward.

 

At first, the breach was no more uncomfortable than Thorin’s fingers had been.  It wasn’t until the flared ridge of the head of Thorin’s cock hit that discomfort began to slide into outright pain.  Bilbo knew that he needed to stay relaxed, to push back against the intrusion, and to breathe. He attempted all three and failed spectacularly.  Thorin was moaning in pleasure behind him, but Bilbo felt skewered by the invading hardness. Each passing moment he told himself that the worst of it must be over now, that the thickest part of Thorin’s cock had gone by, but then the next moment would come and prove him a liar.  The stretched increased until he was overwhelmed with it, surpassing his tolerance and then some.

 

“Thorin-”  He turned his head, but Thorin’s eyes were fixated on where they were joined, his stare unblinking.  “Thorin, I can’t-” Another push had him gasping in pain. His body tensed, making the pressure all the more intense but unable to help itself.  Thorin groaned and gripped Bilbo’s hips tighter. His lips were moving, but Bilbo could not make out words from the stream of guttural mumbling.

 

“Thorin, please!”  They were the wrong words to say, and Bilbo knew it as soon as they’d left his lips.  He should have said  _ wait, _ or  _ stop. _  He should have screamed  _ no. _  Instead, he’d spoken a plea.  Whatever thin thread of control Thorin had been clinging to snapped.  He fell forward over Bilbo, driving them to the floor. The impact sent the rest of Thorin’s length into Bilbo’s body all at once.  Bilbo would have screamed if there had been any air left in his lungs. 

 

With animalistic intensity, Thorin began to fuck him, using his grip on Bilbo to keep him still.  Any hope Bilbo might have harbored of Thorin reaching between their legs to stroke Bilbo and realizing something was wrong from finding him soft, evaporated.  Thorin was thinking of no one’s pleasure but his own.

 

Mercifully, it was not long before his thrusts grew erratic.  He growled low and then stilled, his cock pulsing deep inside Bilbo.  Thorin sighed, pressing his face to the back of Bilbo’s neck as if he was suddenly embarrassed.  He tried to say something, but between his panting breaths it came out as little more than a huff.  A moment later he began to pull back. The ache that the action caused was nearly unbearable. Freed from Thorin’s weight, Bilbo’s lungs expanded and a cry of pain escape his throat.

 

“Bil-” Thorin’s voice cut off in a gasp.  His softening cock was glistening with oil and streaks of blood.  The come dripping down Bilbo’s thighs was tainted crimson. Already, bruises were blossoming on Bilbo’s pale skin.   The sound of distress that slipped past his lips went ignored by both of them. “Bilbo?” He reached out hesitantly, his hand barely brushing Bilbo’s shoulder.

 

“Don’t touch me,” Bilbo snapped, jerking away.

 

“Bilbo, I-  I don’t know-”

 

Bilbo forced himself to push upright, not bothering to hide his grimace of pain as he did.  “You don’t know  _ what, _ Thorin?  Don’t know what happened?  You held me down and fucked me with no regard for my well being.  You don’t know  _ how _ it happened?  Two years ago the arkenstone fell into your hands, and you turned from an honorable, valiant dwarf into a beast who cares only for gold.  That’s how. If you are too blind to see what that damned stone is doing to you, then take a good look at what it does to  _ me!” _

 

Thorin recoiled from the harsh words and the disgust twisting Bilbo’s usually kind face.  He felt lost. As though the ground beneath his feet had suddenly dropped away. “I thought…”

 

“You thought  _ what? _  That I would  _ enjoy _ being crushed beneath your weight and fucked roughly?  I’m still  _ half your size, _ Thorin!  I would ask why you could possibly have thought I was experiencing pleasure when I wasn’t aroused, but you wouldn’t even  _ know _ that, because you didn’t touch me again once you had your cock in me.  Did you really think I could have experienced  _ anything _ but pain from that?”

 

“Bilbo-”

 

_ “Stop calling me that!” _  Bilbo would have punched Thorin if he’d been close enough.  “You don’t use my name when you’re that beast. Call me halfling or burglar or prisoner or pet, but don’t you dare use my name.  Not now.”

 

Thorin looked as though he wanted nothing more than to flee.  He had drawn as far away from Bilbo as he could without rising.  His body was tense, ready to spring back. But he didn’t. He closed his mouth, shook his head, and moved closer. 

 

Ignoring Bilbo’s spitting indignation, Thorin wrapped his cloak around Bilbo and lifted him carefully in his arms.  He would have endured any insults Bilbo hissed, but it seemed that the hobbit had subsided. He didn’t speak a single word while Thorin carried him to the water room and diverted water to the tub.  

 

The silence was almost worse.

 

With gentle, steady hands, Thorin pulled away the cloak and settled Bilbo into the water.  Bilbo gasped in pain when it hit is raw skin, but the weightlessness of the water more than made up for the burn.  When he was certain Bilbo wouldn’t try to climb right back out, Thorin grabbed the salve from the bench and put it in Bilbo’s hands without touching him.  Then, as silently as he entered, Thorin left.

 

*** 

 

Bilbo took his time in the bath, soaking away his aches.  The water wouldn’t cure them all, but it helped immensely, as did the salve.  When he finally got out, he half expected Thorin to be sitting in the hallway, contrite and ready to beg forgiveness.

 

The hallway was empty.

 

Slowly, Bilbo made his way back to the treasure room.  No dwarven king decorated the throne. Bilbo was alone.  He was tempted to go off to one of the private chambers they’d found and sleep in a real bed, but exhaustion won out over impulse.

 

When he woke up, he promised himself. He would tell Thorin that he would be sleeping from a bed from then on, and if he didn’t like it, then he could bend over backwards and kiss his own royal arse.  The thought made him smile a little. It lingered on his lips as he dropped rapidly into unconsciousness.

 

Bilbo’s plan never came to fruition.  Thorin hadn’t returned to the treasure room by the time Bilbo woke.  Instead of starting his day off with a speech about a hobbit’s basic needs, Bilbo spent the next several hours waiting.  He organized the candles. He checked to see how much food was left. He kicked Thorin’s pile of treasure off the dias angrily.  He tried to read. Ten minutes later he closed the book with a snap and sighed.

 

There was no sense in trying  _ not _ to think about what had happened.  Nothing could distract him from the glaring disaster that had occured.  He and Thorin had had sex. It had been a painful, terrible experience for Bilbo.  Thorin hadn’t even noticed until after. And for all that he’d seemed genuinely surprised when he realized it, Bilbo wasn’t inclined to care.  Thorin  _ should _ have known.  He should have checked.  He should have  _ stopped. _

 

But shouldn’t Bilbo have expected it to turn out that way?  He’d experienced doubts about their change in position and hadn’t voiced them.  He’d willingly had sex with a dwarf suffering from dragonsickness so severe that it had literally turned him into a beast.  He’d known that the arkenstone might begin to affect Thorin differently when its influence over Thorin began to slip. And still he’d spread his legs of his own free will.

 

None of that absolved Thorin of guilt, but it reminded Bilbo that he was not an innocent, unsuspecting victim.  He hadn’t deserved to be treated that way, but he’d known the risk and still invited Thorin’s advances.

 

The question wasn’t who was at fault, but what he was supposed to do now.  He’d vented his anger on Thorin already. Either Thorin had gone to the arkenstone and would return deeper under its thrall, or he had chosen the more healthy option of seeking space elsewhere in the mountain.  If that was the case, they would be able to talk when he came back.

 

Bilbo wasn’t sure what he would say.  That they shouldn’t attempt penetrative sex again until Thorin could control himself?  That understanding Thorin’s actions did not make them okay, or mean that Bilbo should suffer them?  That the entire mountain was toxic to Thorin and the arkenstone most of all? Just because all of that was true did not mean that it would be helpful to say.

 

Instead of trying to speculate how Thorin would be when he returned or reciting speeches Bilbo would probably never say, he focused on the things he knew.

 

He knew that he still loved Thorin, and was still dedicated to freeing him from the dragonsickness.

 

He knew he would  _ not _ agree to have sex like that again.  Not if Thorin had just come back from the stone, not on his hands and knees, and not until Thorin had returned to his normal size.

 

He knew that whether it was a calculated tactic by a sentient evil in the arkenstone or simply the curse of the thing following some predetermined, insidious path, the affect the arkenstone had on Thorin was changing.

 

He knew that despite that, and despite the setback they’d just had, Thorin was improving.

 

Those facts didn’t tell Bilbo what he should do or how he should be feeling, but there was a comfort in their honesty.  No matter how unsure he was about other things, how uncertain the future was, they were pillars of surety in the sand. He could could count on them to remain true no matter how Thorin returned and what happened next.

 

Except that Thorin did not return.  He hadn’t come back before Bilbo laid down to sleep again, and he wasn’t there when Bilbo awoke the second time.  Nor had he returned during the next two times Bilbo slept.

 

Was he trying to punish Bilbo for speaking to him so angrily?  Was he punishing himself for what he’d done? Had he finally realized what the arkenstone was capable of and had journeyed deep within the mountain to destroy it?

 

The last one was a pleasant thought, but Bilbo did not think they would be so lucky.

 

Without a cycle of events to count the passage of time, minutes seemed to drag on endlessly.  Bilbo had tried keeping track of his sleeps, but he could never tell how long he’d been asleep.  Had that been a night’s worth, or just a nap? He tried measuring by torches, which was a little better, but he had no idea how long each torch burned for or if they all burned for the same length of time.

 

He read all the books he had.  He organized the things that had gotten overturned during their coupling.  He even went off the dias and picked up the pieces of treasure he’d kicked down.  The food dwindled. Bilbo was beginning to think he would need to try and find a way to get out of the mountain, at least so he wouldn’t starve before Thorin returned.  He hesitated every time he was returning to the treasury from the water room, debating on turning the opposite way and seeing where it led him. But always the thought of how Thorin would react if he returned and found Bilbo gone steered him back on the familiar path.

 

It wasn’t Thorin’s anger he feared at that point.  It was his disappointment. How much worse would the arkenstone’s hold over Thorin grow if he thought Bilbo had abandoned him?  Especially after what had happened? He didn’t want to risk it. Instead, he made his food portions smaller, his trips to the water room shorter, and waited.


	9. Chapter 9

When Thorin finally did return, he was different.  Bilbo woke from a nap - at least, he guessed it was a nap, as the torch hadn’t yet burned low - to find Thorin staring at him.

 

Bilbo’s initial joy at seeing him again was stifled at closer inspection of the king.  Thorin held himself stiffly in the throne. His eyes were on Bilbo, yes, but everything else about him seemed distant.  Unapproachable. There was no emotion in the lines of his face. The void was more chilling than any more volatile display might have been.  Bilbo sat up and was about to speak - though he had no idea what he might say - when suddenly Thorin rose and left the dias. He walked out of the treasure room without looking back.

 

Bilbo feared that he had already returned to the arkenstone and it would be another endless stretch of time before he saw Thorin again, but a while later, the smell of cooking meat reached him.  Relieved, Bilbo went to the place where they usually dressed the animals Thorin caught together.

 

When he arrived, most of the work was already done.  Thorin had taken apart the boar and set strips of it drying while a few larger hunks of meat roasted over the fire.  He didn’t acknowledge Bilbo when he entered, but after seeing Bilbo stare hungrily at the meat, he plucked a smaller piece from a skewer and offered it wordlessly to him.  It was rarer than Bilbo usually liked, but he ate it anyways and asked for a second.

 

Finally sated and messy with juices from his meal, Bilbo helped carry the food back to the treasure room and then followed when Thorin beckoned him again.  He stopped in the water room and diverted water to the bath. Bilbo thought that Thorin was going to bathe and turned to give him privacy, but Thorin stopped him and began pulling the hobbit’s clothes off.  It was steady and methodical and left no room for argument.

 

Bilbo barely had time to consider protesting before he was naked under Thorin’s gaze.  Much to his embarrassment, Thorin circled him, inspecting every inch of Bilbo’s skin. Rough fingertips brushed lightly at the fading bruises.  On the second circle, Thorin’s hand pressed against Bilbo’s back, making him bend over, and then Bilbo’s face positively  _ flamed, _ because Thorin was carefully parting his cheeks and looking at him  _ there, _ his gaze clinical.

 

“Thorin-”  Bilbo squirmed, and then Thorin’s hands withdrew and Bilbo was ushered to the bath.  Under Thorin’s watchful eye, Bilbo indulged in the longest soak he’d taken since Thorin had left.  It was nice, even if the sensation of being watched wasn’t quite comfortable.

 

When his fingers had begun to prune, Bilbo finally left the water.  As he dried, Thorin scrubbed himself off briskly. Then they made the silent trek back to the throne room.  Several times, Bilbo started to speak, but the silence had already grown too foreboding and he lost his courage.

 

It wasn’t until they’d been sitting on the dias for endless minutes that Bilbo dared speak.  “You were gone a long time.”

 

“Was I.”  Somehow it was neither question nor statement.  Thorin’s voice was void of all emotion.

 

“What… what were you doing?”  Bilbo didn’t expect Thorin to confess to spending days staring at the arkenstone, but he was disappointed when he got no reply at all.  “I thought, perhaps, we could go out and find more books? It seems I’ve read all the ones we brought back last time.”

 

Thorin didn’t answer that question either, but he rose from the throne and inclined his head in invitation for Bilbo to follow.  Glad to know that Thorin was at least still acknowledging him, Bilbo went without complaint.

 

They spent several hours exploring a set of personal chambers.  It seemed that most dwarven families didn’t seen the need to keep stockpiles of personal books, since the library in Erebor was open to all and had every book they could need.  Bilbo thought wistfully how wonderful it would be to uncover  _ that _ room.  Now there would be a treasure chamber indeed.

 

Still, he was not ungrateful for the few books he did find, especially those in Westrion.  He picked up a few in Khuzdul in the hopes that Thorin would be willing to help him learn more of it at some point, but he did not expect that it would be any time soon.

 

Bilbo would have gladly continued on exploring for longer, but Thorin’s already tense muscles had grown rigid.  His hands curled into fists and he was shifting his weight as if he could not stand to be still. They made their way rapidly back to the treasure room.  Thorin barely took the time to see Bilbo settled in before he left again, this time not inviting Bilbo along.

 

There was little Bilbo could do after that but wait.  And wait he did. He read through several of the books he’d found, he tidied around the throne, he even began sorting the treasure near the dias into groups.  But still Thorin did not return.

 

Was this going to be their new routine?  Spending a scant few hours together in tense silence and then Thorin going off on his own for what seemed like endless stretches of time?  Bilbo hadn’t seen any physical changes in Thorin yet, and he hadn’t been violent, but there was no way that much time spent with the arkenstone could be good for Thorin’s mind.  But what could Bilbo do about it? He couldn’t physically restrain Thorin, and he doubted that the king would take kindly to Bilbo suggesting he eschew the stone for his own wellbeing.

 

Could he be persuaded by other means, perhaps?  Logic couldn’t outmatch madness, but there had been a few other methods that had seemed effective, at least to a small degree.  Kissing him had kept Thorin’s focus on Bilbo, until he’d caught sight of the gold again. And reminding Thorin who he was, how much Bilbo cared for him, had brought Thorin back to himself in the grip of the sickness.  But that hadn’t lasted, and Bilbo did not want to be reminded of the consequences.

 

It seemed unethical to try and  _ seduce _ Thorin in order to keep him from the stone - and Bilbo didn’t want things to progress past a certain point for  _ both _ their sakes - but did the methods really matter when he had Thorin’s best interest at heart?

 

Maybe there was some middle ground he could find.  He could talk to Thorin, even if Thorin refused to talk back.  He could touch him. Not necessarily sexually, but enough to remind Thorin that Bilbo  _ wanted _ contact with him.  There could be kisses too, if Thorin wanted.  Despite the fangs, Bilbo found Thorin’s kisses quite pleasant.  It would be no hardship to have more of those.

 

And further than that… further than that, Bilbo wasn’t sure.  Penetrative sex was out of the question. Thorin was still too big, too volatile, to make the experience comfortable.  But penetration was not the end all be all of sex. They had already engaged in oral sex, and while Thorin hadn’t been particularly considerate during the end, he hadn’t ever  _ hurt _ Bilbo during it.  There were other things they could do, too.  Hobbits were particularly fond of frottage, being creatures that sought out simple pleasures.  

 

There was some part of Bilbo that wasn’t exactly excited about the idea of his and Thorin’s cocks pressed together, just because of the comical picture of size difference they would create, but the sensation would likely be just as good if not better.

 

So then.  He had a plan, of sorts.  He only had to wait until Thorin returned and hope that it would work.


	10. Chapter 10

Bilbo was beginning to nod off over his book when a long shadow fell over him.  He jumped and the book tumbled off the edge of the dias. The curse that left his lips was horribly impolite, and Bilbo thought he saw the ghost of a smile pass Thorin’s lips.  Then he swept past Bilbo and settled stiffly onto the throne.

 

Reminding himself that he was the hobbit that had fought the spiders of Mirkwood, faced down Smaug, and battled orcs, Bilbo pushed to his feet.  If he could do those things, he could face one mad dwarf king.

 

“I missed you,” he declared, sitting boldly in Thorin’s lap.  Thorin grunted as much in surprise as at the sudden weight of hobbit on him.

 

“Oh?”

 

“You’ve been gone much longer these last two times.”  He paused, in case Thorin had something to say to that, but went on when it was clear that he did not.  “I was hoping that you would find some time to help me translate some of these books that we found.”

 

“I can speak and read Westrion as well as Khuzdul, but language is not my specialty.  That was -” he stopped, seeming unable to bring himself to say Ori’s name. “It is not something I have talent for.”

 

“You wouldn’t have to do much.  Just read over my shoulder, help me understand words I don’t recognize, correct me if I make any mistakes.  I could sit just like this-” Bilbo shifted until his back was pressed against Thorin’s chest, “and you could see the book as I read it.”

 

Thorin made a choked sound, his hands hovering awkwardly above Bilbo as if he did not know if he would be allowed to touch him.  Bilbo laced their fingers together and laid them in his lap. It wasn’t inherently sexual, but he still felt something twitch beneath him.

 

“Unless you have a problem with this?”

 

There was a pregnant pause, then, “...no.”

 

“Could you reach one for me, then?  They’re just over the side of the throne there.”  He relinquished one of Thorin’s hands and gestured to where his pile of books was.  Thorin reached down and grabbed the first one his fingers touched, obviously trying very hard not to react to the way Bilbo’s weight pressed against his hardening cock.

 

Despite how provocative Bilbo was being, they managed to get through nearly half the book without incident.  It was only when the torch behind them began to flicker that Bilbo realized how long they’d been reading. After his initial stiffness - both literal and not - faded, Thorin had been a surprisingly good teacher.  He might have claimed to have no talent for language, but he was intelligent and patient, not just reciting the phrases Bilbo did not know, but explaining why they were pronounced a certain way or the origins of the word.

 

Bilbo hoped that they would be able to pass many an afternoon that way, increasing not only his knowledge of Khuzdul but his closeness with Thorin as well.

 

The torch went from flickering to dying, and Bilbo finally got off of Thorin’s lap.  He went to switch the torch, but Thorin beat him to it, lighting the new one and setting it in the brazier.  Bilbo went hopefully toward the pallet, but Thorin hesitated. His eyes strayed to the door, longing bright in them.  He started to turn.

 

“Your majesty!”  Bilbo hurried over and put himself between Thorin and the stairs.  “I - I wanted to - do… something.” His mind raced through all the things he’d considered trying.  The physical contact had been a resounding success, and an exceptionally pleasant one. What had been next on the list?  Frottage? No, that skipped a step. Kissing!

 

Bilbo yanked Thorin none too gently back toward the throne, then climbed on top of it so that their heights matched.  Without giving himself or Thorin time to back out, he threw his arms around Thorin’s neck and kissed him.

 

Thorin remained stiff at first, clearly shocked.  Then, it was as if a switch had been flipped and Thorin was a starving man and Bilbo was a feast.  His fingers twined in Bilbo’s hair, his lips slanted to deepen the kiss, and his tongue unabashedly sought Bilbo’s.  A spark had ignited between them, and now it was blazing out of control. 

 

The hesitation Bilbo might have felt at the loss of control was wiped away by his own desire.  Through all the disastrous sexual encounters they’d had, Bilbo’s attraction to Thorin had not waned.  The fact that none of them had ended in an orgasm for Bilbo was almost irrelevant. He was certain that eventually it  _ would, _ if only they could bring Thorin totally back to himself.  

 

“Bilbo-”  Thorin pulled away with an agonized groan.  “Don’t-”

 

“Do you… do you not want to kiss?”  Bilbo was fighting to regain his breath, watching Thorin for any sign that he might be truly reluctant.

 

“Bilbo.  You have  _ no idea,” _ Thorin pressed his lips against the side of Bilbo’s neck, letting his fangs nip softly, “what I  _ want _ to do with you.”

 

“N-not kiss?”  Bilbo was melting against Thorin, letting his body go limp under Thorin’s ministrations.

 

“So much more than that.”  His lips moved down, the biting kisses going to Bilbo’s sternum and then lower still.  He sank to his knees and pressed his forehead against Bilbo’s belly. “But I cannot.”

 

“Why?”

 

Thorin’s head jerked up.  “Do you  _ want _ a repeat of last time?” he asked incredulously.

 

“Well - no.  But there are other things we can do.  We… we did before.”

 

“Little one…” Thorin rose slowly, his hesitancy giving way to heat.  “Are you asking to suck my cock?”

 

Bilbo flushed red.  “I would not be opposed,” he managed to squeak.  Thorin froze, his eyes darkening.

 

“That’s not good enough.”  He lifted Bilbo off the throne and collapsed back into it, once again looking at the door.  Bilbo stood still in shock for a moment, then rounded on Thorin with his hands on his hips. 

 

“What  _ would _ be good enough then?  Do you want me to beg on my knees?  Perform a trick like a dog?”

 

“No!”

 

“Then what?”

 

_ “Wanting to! _  You, actually wanting to do any of this with me.  Not as something you subject yourself to at my order, not a thing to be endured, but actually  _ wanting _ to be with me this way.”  His initial outburst faded to tired resignation.  “I know that you have not gotten… pleasure, from our times together.  Not the way I have.”

 

“Thorin-”

 

“I should have stayed away.”  He tried to rise, but Bilbo pushed him back down.

 

“No!  Don’t - don’t go.  I  _ want _ you to stay.  I do want you, Thorin.”  Bilbo laid his hands against Thorin’s warm chest as if he could press the words into his heart.  “I have always wanted you. Do you truly think I would have touched you that way if I hadn’t? I am not some damsel in distress.  I am wielder of Sting, barrel-rider, ring-winner, luck wearer. And you think I am a blushing maiden?”

 

“You  _ are _ blushing, halfling.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Bilbo huffed.  “I am a fully grown hobbit, capable of making my own decisions, thank you very much.  If you are unhappy that I haven’t gotten pleasure from our joining, then  _ do _ something about it.  Unless you need instruction on the matter?”  He lifted a challenging brow and watched with satisfaction as Thorin’s pride rose to the bait.

 

Thorin tugged Bilbo forward for a bruising kiss, then settled him back on his knees.  “I need no instruction,” he growled, “but perhaps you will allow me to give  _ you _ some.”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed breathlessly.  Already, this was better than the other times they’d been together.  The very thought of Thorin not only offering to seek Bilbo’s pleasure but  _ insisting _ on it, was incredibly arousing.  There was still the ever present mist of the dragonsickness in Thorin’s mind, but it was only a thin veil over the real Thorin.   _ This _ was what Bilbo had been longing for.  The dwarf who valued his honor, cared for others, had pride in his talent as a lover.  Bilbo had  _ known _ this was there.  He’d just needed to find it.

 

Bilbo’s hands went to Thorin’s laces, but they were batted softly away.  “See to your own,” Thorin commanded him. Incredibly eager to obey, Bilbo unlaced his own trousers and freed his already hard cock.  Thorin watched him with half lidded eyes. He was working on his laces too, but all his attention was on Bilbo. It was a heady feeling.  “Wrap your fingers around yourself.” Bilbo complied only too eagerly, gripping his cock but not stroking yet.

 

Thorin let out a low hum of appreciation.  He was as hard as Bilbo and purposely not touching himself.  He didn’t want his own hand to be the first to touch him. Already, he could imagine Bilbo’s hand on his cock the way it gripped his own.  The vicarious pleasure was almost as good. “You look so full in your own hand. Your cock must be a fine specimen indeed among hobbits.”

 

It was the strangest compliment Bilbo had ever received, but he still glowed under the praise.  “I’ve heard no complaints.”

 

“I’m sure not.  Stroke yourself.  Show me how you take your own pleasure.”  Thorin bit his lip as he watched Bilbo obey.  The sting of fangs in the soft flesh was the only thing keeping him from forgetting himself and lunging at Bilbo.  This was more important, though. Watching Bilbo’s muscles tense and relax in sensation, seeing the flush rise in his chest, hearing the hitched breaths as pleasure mounted.

 

Thorin wanted wildly, desperately, to give Bilbo that pleasure with his own hand.  With his mouth, with his cock, with whatever Bilbo would allow him. But he could not risk repeating what had happened last time.  Even at his most cognizant, he was not fully in control of himself. He  _ would not _ hurt Bilbo that way again.  “Faster,” he urged. “But don’t come yet.”

 

“I want-”  Bilbo shuddered, Thorin’s voice having a visceral effect on him in his arousal.  “I want to touch you. Please, Thorin-” he broke off in a moan that sent a bolt of pure lust through Thorin’s belly.

 

“Do it.  But only with one hand.  Keep stroking your cock for me.  I need to see it.”

 

Bilbo immediately unwrapped one of his hands from himself and gripped Thorin.  The effect was akin to having the shock of an eel go through him, but with pleasure instead of pain.  Bilbo’s hand was already wet and slick with his own precome, making the slide of his hand on Thorin’s cock sinfully smooth.  The grip was hot and firm and insistent, everything Thorin wanted. It was a struggle not to come right then with his eyes vacillating between watching Bilbo stroke him or watching the other hand moving on his own cock.

 

“I should not-”  Thorin’s head tipped back, his eyes closed tightly.  “It is perverse that I take such pleasure in the sight of this, even when I am myself.  Of you, on your knees before me, doing this with such uninhibited pleasure.”

 

“Do I look as though I am bothered by it?  By kneeling at your feet?” Bilbo spread his legs wider and gripped his cock with such firmness that it pulsed visibly.

 

“No.”

 

“Then why should you be?”

 

A bead of arousal welled up at the tip of Thorin’s cock, and Bilbo suddenly sat forward to lap it up.  Thorin gripped the arm of the throne so hard that he felt his blunted claws gouge into the gold. 

 

_ “ Mahimrêl!” _

 

Bilbo somehow managed to grin up at him even with his lips stretched around Thorin’s cock.  Thorin would have been happy to replay that moment on a loop until they both reached their peak, except that Bilbo’s hand on himself had faltered.  That wouldn’t do. Thorin wrapped his fingers over Bilbo’s and began to control the movement, giving him less to coordinate. “Keep jerking yourself,” Thorin reminded him.  “If you stop moving, then so do I.”

 

“I could just suck you dry while you grip yourself, helpless to prevent it,” Bilbo challenged cheekily.

 

“Is that  _ really _ what you want?”  Thorin watched Bilbo’s hand on himself, keeping pace with the movement of it.

 

“Absolutely,” Bilbo swore emphatically.  “But, not this time.” He purposely sped up his strokes as he lowered his mouth over Thorin’s cock again.  His tongue danced along the sensitive ridge repeatedly until Thorin was panting for breath. He was close. So close.

 

The sight of Bilbo’s lips sliding over the head of Thorin’s cock was a tempting one, but now Thorin kept his eyes on Bilbo’s hand.  On the flushed tip of Bilbo’s cock disappearing and reappearing in his fist. On every clench of his muscles and each jolt of pleasure.  Bilbo  _ wanted _ this.  He was enjoying it, physically and mentally.  There was undeniable proof of that dripping from the tip of Bilbo’s cock onto the floor beneath him.

 

“I’m g-going to-”  Thorin cried out as his orgasm was ripped from him before he’d even had time to finish the warning.  Without the length of Thorin’s cock choking him, Bilbo was happy to keep his mouth sealed around the head of it and urge along the climax with steady sucks.  “I want to see - you-” Thorin shuddered and groaned, “please-”

 

Bilbo needed no further prompting.  He let his own release sweep through him.  It would be a lie to say it was the best orgasm Bilbo had ever had, but it was the most profound, the most meaningful.  He rested his forehead against the inside of Thorin’s thigh as he slowly came back to himself. 

 

There was a mess on the floor, but Bilbo would worry about that later.  He tugged clumsily at Thorin and moved towards the blankets at the same time.  Thorin joined him on the pallet without protest, curling himself up behind Bilbo and twining their legs together.  Exhaustion and the decadent comfort of the position were sending Bilbo towards sleep in a record setting pace. 

 

Only one thought weighed on his mind as he drifted.  Before Thorin had started going away for such long stretches of time, the scales had receded down to his knees.  

 

Now, Bilbo could feel them halfway up his thighs.

 

***

 

When Bilbo woke alone, he spent as long as was feasible hoping that Thorin had just gone off to relieve himself, or that he’d left to hunt even though there was still meat left.  It was a long, long time before he admitted that Thorin truly had left again, and might be gone as long as before.

 

Their encounter had gone spectacularly well - if the mess at the base of the throne was any indication, and Bilbo certainly thought it was - but Thorin had still not stayed anywhere near as long as he had been before.  Did his increased sexual interest have any correlation to his increased dependency on the stone? If so, was Bilbo’s feeding it making the dragonsickness better, or worse?

 

It seemed like a double edged sword.  The closeness and intimacy of sexual contact grounded Thorin.  It brought him back to himself and made the periods of madness shorter and less extreme.  But now Thorin was spending long stretches of time gone, probably with the arkenstone, and the physical changes that had started to occur were regressing.

 

If it was an exchange, Thorin’s mind for his body, then of course it would be better for Thorin to be himself, even in the draconian form.  But Bilbo couldn’t help thinking it was not so simple. Having the form of a beast was not something that would come without consequences. What if once the dragon had full sway over his body, it made his mind easier prey?

 

Somehow, Bilbo needed to maintain the intimacy of his interactions with Thorin and increase the amount of time he stayed away from the stone.

 

He put his plan into action the next several times Thorin returned, with partial success, but the end results were not what he had hoped.

 

After that first time, Thorin seemed to have lost his reticence to engage in sexual activity with Bilbo, but he was colder, more mechanical.  When he was hard, he would urge Bilbo to his knees and tell him how to touch himself, then let Bilbo stroke him only when Bilbo was fully roused.  It was still enticing that Thorin was so insistent on seeing to Bilbo’s pleasure, but it was also far more disconcerting to stroke himself as Thorin watched when his eyes were so impassive.  Bilbo missed the heat that had been in them before.

 

No matter how abrupt or impersonal Thorin seemed, he always made sure Bilbo came first before he would allow himself to let go.  Bilbo wasn’t sure if that was some kind of consideration, or a form of control.

 

He had tried to get Thorin to touch him once, thinking that if they were stroking each other, they might meet in the middle ground and come together.  Thorin had yanked himself away from Bilbo so fast that he’d nearly fallen.

 

And then, Bilbo had realized that aside from their kiss when Bilbo had been standing on the throne, Thorin had hardly touched Bilbo at all.  Ever since they’d had sex, he kept contact between them as minimal as Bilbo would allow, and it shrank down to zero when they were engaging in any kind of intimacy.

 

The realization hit him out of the blue, and he cursed himself because it should have been obvious from the beginning.  Thorin did not trust himself to touch Bilbo when he was aroused. Watching Bilbo stroke himself while he sucked Thorin’s cock was a way of allowing himself some relief while seeing physical proof that Bilbo was enjoying himself, but it did not fix the root of the problem.  The strict rules he’d placed around their encounters  _ were _ about control, and while Thorin’s adamant adherence to them was keeping Bilbo from any harm, they were also trapping Thorin in his shame.

  
Shame that was  _ literally _ eating him alive, with scales that eclipsed his flesh more and more every day.  Bilbo couldn’t let this go on. They had come too far for this to be the thing that dragged them back into the darkness.


	11. Chapter 11

“Come here,” Thorin invited after they finished eating.  He was draped in a now familiar position on the throne, legs spread and arousal evident.  Bilbo swallowed and went to his knees in the space left for him. He forced himself to be confident that this would work.  That he could draw Thorin out. It had to.

 

Thorin studied him with a flat gaze, palming his erection.  “Take your cock out,” he instructed. He did the same while Bilbo complied.  “Stroke yourself, but slowly.” There was a bottle of oil by Thorin’s foot, and he nudged it into Bilbo’s reach.  “Slick your fingers with that.”

 

That was something new.  Bilbo wondered for a moment if Thorin wanted to try penetrating him again, but Thorin was touching himself instead, not waiting for Bilbo to do so.  “Thorin?”

 

“I want to see you fuck yourself with your fingers.”

 

The provocative words spoken in Thorin’s deep baritone were temptation itself, but Bilbo tried to remember that he had a plan.  He would need to try and incorporate these new instructions into it. He took his time unstoppering the oil and letting it drizzle over his fingers as he thought.

 

“Why don’t you come down here?” he suggested.  Thorin’s eyes flicked up from where Bilbo was teasing himself and he frowned.

 

“No.”

 

“I don’t have enough coordination to do this, stroke myself, and suck your cock at the same time.”

 

“You won’t be sucking me.  I just want to watch you.”

 

“But, if you were down here, you could touch my cock for me.  Don’t you want that, Thorin? I do. I want so badly to feel your hand around me.”  With flaming cheeks, Bilbo laid on his back and bent his knees. He felt shamelessly wanton, brazen in his attempted seduction.  His right hand stroked himself while one finger of his left dared press inside.

 

Thorin groaned.  “Another,” he commanded.

 

“Not yet.  I want you to touch me, Thorin.  I want to fuck myself slowly while you stroke me.  I want to feel the heat of your cock pressed against my belly when I come.”  Bilbo let out a shuddering breath as the hunger in Thorin’s eyes combined with his own words sent coils of arousal spiraling through him.  He slipped another finger inside himself and moaned. The sound was followed by a screech of metal as Thorin’s nails dug into the throne. He had stopped stroking himself to grip the arm rests, but his cock was still throbbing and leaking precome.  “I want you to touch me. I want to  _ feel _ you.”  Bilbo withdrew his fingers, Thorin’s growl of displeasure only sparking more arousal, then looped his hand behind his leg to push them back in deeper.  A third one joined. “Thorin,  _ please-” _

 

Thorin sprang from the throne and caged Bilbo’s body against the floor with his own.  Startled but pleased - both with the success of his plan and the feeling of having Thorin blanketing him - Bilbo let go of his cock and instead threaded his fingers into Thorin’s hair.  They were both panting too hard to kiss, but he brought Thorin’s forehead down to his own and they shared breath, hot and urgent. Thorin’s grip came around Bilbo tightly, stroking every time he felt Bilbo thrust into himself.

 

“More- I want to feel you against me,” Bilbo begged.  Thorin encircled both their cocks in his hand, squeezing them together before bucking his hips.  The friction of his cock against Bilbo’s own was almost more than he could bear. “Thorin, I- I need to-”

 

_ “Now,” _ Thorin demanded.  Bilbo’s body bowed upward with the force of his release.  Slick heat pooled against his belly, urged on by the strokes of Thorin’s hand.  They only stopped when Bilbo whined at the overstimulation. His body was buzzing pleasantly, still adrift in the aftershock of his orgasm, hardly paying attention to what Thorin was doing.   He felt fingers scoop into the puddle on his stomach and he looked down in time to see Thorin spread it over the head of his still hard cock. It was almost as startling as it was arousing.

 

Thorin was muttering something in Khuzdul but Bilbo couldn’t quite understand it.  His mind was still floating contentedly, unwilling to exert itself just yet. He managed a gasp of indignation when his fingers were abruptly withdrawn for him, leaving his hole nothing to clench around as little aftershocks hit him.  But then Thorin hitched Bilbo’s leg higher up, and the thick head of his cock pressed against the greedy entrance. Thorin was going to fuck Bilbo’s own release back into him.

 

There was a single, pleasure drunk moment when all Bilbo could think was  _ yes, please yes, _ but then fear blanked the thought.  Eager as his body was, he knew his limits.  Thorin was even bigger now than he had been when they’d tried this before.  And Thorin seemed almost as lost, muttering and trembling. He pushed forward hard.  Pain bloomed, eclipsing the pleasure.

 

_ “Stop!” _  Bilbo slapped his palm against Thorin’s chest and pushed.  He knew he didn’t have the strength to move Thorin, wasn’t physically capable of stopping him should Thorin ignore him.  But Thorin didn’t ignore him. He stilled, looked up, and growled something in Khuzdul.

 

_ Want _ and a particularly silatious profanity were the only words Bilbo understood, but they were enough.  He put his other hand on Thorin’s chest too, uncaring that he was smearing oil.

 

“No!  Thorin, you’re  _ hurting _ me.”

 

There was a breathless pause, one suspended moment where the head of Thorin’s cock was still stretching Bilbo painfully, where there was still nothing but savage lust in Thorin’s eyes, where Bilbo thought Thorin was going to take him anyways.  There was another tiny flare of the burning stretch, and then Thorin was wrenched away so quickly it looked as though a giant had snatched him back by his scruff.

 

Bilbo sat up shakily and saw Thorin backed against the throne like a cornered animal.  His eyes were wide and wild, his flanks billowing with his ragged breaths.

  
“Thorin?”  Bilbo’s soft call made him jump, and his gaze flitted up to Bilbo, then to the door beyond him.   _ Oh no you don’t, _ Bilbo thought.  He couldn’t let him run away now.  He saw Thorin’s cock still hard between his legs and set his sights on it.  Though his limbs protested any activity so soon after orgasm, he forced them to move.  On his hands and knees, he crawled slowly to his king.

 

“Don’t-” Thorin bit out when Bilbo reached out to touch him.  Bilbo hesitated, his hand hovering over Thorin’s thigh.

 

“You don’t want me to touch you, or you don’t think I  _ should?” _

 

“You  _ shouldn’t. _  You shouldn’t even  _ want _ to.”

 

“That’s my decision to make.”  He slid his hand up Thorin’s thigh, his other hand making the same journey.  “You gave me so much pleasure, Thorin. Let me give that to you, too.”

 

“I almost gave you even greater pain.”

 

“But you didn’t.  You stopped when I asked.”

 

“You shouldn’t have had to ask.  I  _ knew. _  I knew I shouldn’t-” his sentence choked off as Bilbo wiped the head of his cock clean.  It probably should have had a good seeing to with soap and water before Bilbo put his mouth on it, but he was choosing to ignore that.

 

“I don’t care.  I want to do this, Thorin.  Please let me.” His mouth hovered, breath heating the swollen flesh and making it jump erratically.  Thorin’s jaw clenched so hard that Bilbo heard it crack, but then he gave a sharp nod. It was all the permission Bilbo needed.  He wrapped his lips around Thorin’s cock and let his tongue swirl around it. He sucked, alternating soft and steady pressure, and it was only moments later that Thorin was coming hard.

 

Bilbo shifted aside for a moment to take a swig of water from the small decanter he kept by the throne, washing away the taste, and then settled himself back between Thorin’s now sprawled legs.  He wanted to get closer, but waited to see which version of Thorin would be waiting once the haze of release cleared away.

 

Clear blue eyes watched him almost warily, then Thorin invited Bilbo into the circle of his arms.  Bilbo went gladly, relief and love and happiness warming him almost as much as Thorin himself did.

 

“Thank you,” Thorin whispered.  “I don’t deserve you,  _ Mahal _ knows I don’t, but I don’t care.”

 

Bilbo huffed out a laugh and hugged Thorin back.  “If we all got what we deserved, I’d probably still be rotting back at Bag End, and the Eagles would rule us all.  Thankfully we get to choose our own destinies.”

 

“Then you are a fool that chose this one, halfling.  You take too many chances with your safety.” He pressed a kiss to the top of Bilbo’s head.  “We cannot do this again.”

 

“What?”

 

“This.”  He indicated between them, where they were snuggled together.  “I should not have touched you. I knew better.”

 

“I  _ wanted _ you to touch me.  And I know you wanted it too.”

 

“Of course I wanted to touch you!  I also wanted to pin you down and fuck you raw!  Do you not realize you are playing with fire?”

 

“You controlled yourself, Thorin.  You wanted to, yes, but you  _ stopped. _  Your control over the madness is getting better.  You won’t turn into a beast every time.” Bilbo tried to sit up so he could look Thorin in the eye, but he was held tighter, pinned where he was.

 

“It is funny you should say it like that.  _ Turn into a beast. _  Because it is not the dragonsickness you should fear.  It’s me.  _  I am _ the beast.”

 

“You’re not-”

 

“Yes, I am _. _  You think I was in the grip of madness when I hurt you last time.  That it was the spell of the stone that drove me to take you that way.  That made me want to do it again just now. But it  _ wasn’t. _  I was myself, then and now.  I was me, as much as I am in this moment.  I wanted you and I could think of nothing else.  It did not even occur to me, that first time, that you might be begging me to stop instead of spurring me on.  And  _ Mahal _ help me, I do not know that it would have mattered.”

 

Bilbo bit his lip so hard he tasted blood.  Was what Thorin was saying true? He had been… himself?  It hadn’t been the arkenstone that had turned Thorin into that animal, but his own desires?  “You stopped this time,” he said weakly. “I told you no and you listened.”

 

“Yes.  But I didn’t want to.”

 

Bilbo braced his hands on Thorin’s chest and shoved back sharply enough that Thorin’s arms fell away.  He sat up, looking Thorin squarely in the face. “Did you  _ want _ to hurt me?” he demanded.  Thorin gaped at him, then shook his head.

 

“Of course not!  I- I-” He shook his head again.  “No. I do not want you to come to harm.  But that doesn’t matter. I can barely control myself around you.  When I put my hands on you, my resolve goes up in smoke. Being near the-” he stopped and looked away, as if ashamed.  “Being away from you is the only thing that helps.”

 

“Don’t you see?  Spending all that time with the bloody arkenstone is making you  _ worse! _  You’re already changing back!  You’re almost as big as you were when I arrived - which is half the problem!  If you were your proper size, a little rough sex wouldn’t be the end of the world!  But like this-” he gestured to the scales and claws that had started growing out again on Thorin’s feet, “we can’t fit together at all.

 

“I know you think you’re doing what’s right, but staying away like that isn’t how to fix this.  I can help you, Thorin. I  _ want _ to.  But what happens when the dwarf left in you is eclipsed by the dragon?  Do you really think you’ll care if you hurt me then?”

 

“It won’t get that bad.  The stone… it isn’t evil.  It enchants me, it awakens some parts of me that are perhaps better left in slumber.  I know that I - am not fully myself, at times. But the arkenstone is a treasure. The greatest treasure in this entire hoard.  It is not some cursed relic forged by wicked hands. It is my own weakness that I must overcome.” 

 

Thorin held Bilbo a little tighter, then set him aside.  Bilbo was so dumbfounded that he didn't fight it. “I cannot let this happen again.  I will not.” He rose and disappeared off the dias, not even taking the time to straighten his clothes.  

 

***

 

Bilbo watched Thorin walk away with an almost numb sort of shock.  He had been hit with too much information, and none of it made sense.

 

Thorin claimed that he’d been wholly himself when he’d lost control while they were having sex.  That rang so false to everything Bilbo knew of Thorin’s character that it was almost comical. Thorin on the journey, and indeed, in the stories the others had told him of their time in exile, was a font of control.  He exercised it in all things, exerting his iron will on both himself and his surroundings.

 

Yes, it was possible that in the heat of the moment, that control had been lost.  But for him to ignore Bilbo’s needs entirely? That was not the dwarf Bilbo knew. The one who made sure his men were fed first even when he himself was on the brink of starvation.  The one who risked his life to save someone he at the time thought of as the least member of his company. 

 

But that dwarf had never set foot in this mountain.  Even before they’d entered, camping on the slopes as they looked for a way inside, the arkenstone had begun to affect Thorin.  Simple proximity to the damn thing was enough to twist his mind, and once it had its claws in him, it never let go. 

 

There had been times before the battle when Thorin had seemed almost himself, such as when he’d given Bilbo the mithril coat, but even then the sickness had been clouding his mind.  Not controlling him, perhaps, but tainting him. It lowered his inhibitions, increased his aggression, and magnified his every fault - even at its weakest.

 

Thorin might have thought he was himself.  And maybe he  _ almost _ was.  But always, the dragonsickness gripped him.  Nothing Thorin had done in this mountain were his actions alone.  The surprise was not that Thorin hadn’t stopped last time, but that he had somehow found the strength to stop  _ this _ time.  That said everything about their bond that Bilbo needed to know.

 

It also brought into sharp focus the second thing Thorin had said that shocked Bilbo.  That he did not think the arkenstone was evil. He did not see it as the root of the problem.

 

Bilbo had thought for a long time now that they’d been on the same page.  They’d spoken of the sickness before, of the madness that followed his time away from Bilbo.  Thorin  _ knew _ he was not himself when he was in the stone’s thrall, and he knew the gold around them clouded his thoughts.

 

How could he not see that the stone was at the heart of it?

 

Had he deluded himself, or was it the arkenstone twisting his thoughts to protect itself?   Bilbo couldn’t be sure, and he wasn’t certain that it really mattered. If even at his best, Thorin could not be convinced that the stone was the problem, then he could never fully recover on his own.  Unless something was done about it  _ for _ him, he would stay its victim until the end of his days.

 

Bilbo would need to do something.  But what?


	12. Chapter 12

Though he’d held out some small sliver of hope that Thorin would change his routine again because of their conversation, it did not seem that was the case.

 

Bilbo had slept three times, and still Thorin had not returned.  The food and oil were getting low, and worse, Bilbo feared that when Thorin  _ did _ return, it would be as the draconian beast he had met that first day.

 

He refused to wait one moment more for his fate to greet him.  He would go after it himself, and do his damndest to change it.  Readying a torch, a small knapsack, and some stout rope, Bilbo made his plan to find Thorin and get him away from the stone.  He expected the confrontation would not be a pleasant one, but he was willing to face it. All he had to do was find where Thorin and the stone were hidden away.

 

The general direction had been pointed out by Thorin himself - albeit unintentionally - their first time exploring.  Bilbo made for the stairs that descended beneath the mountain, assuring himself that the rope would hold him if he came to a place he could not traverse.

 

All around the small circle of his torch light, darkness encroached.  It seemed almost a living thing down here, hungry and treacherous. Always it receded before the fire, though, and Bilbo was not to be daunted.  

 

His path was not difficult to find, even if it was nearly impossible to follow.  The trail Thorin had left during his many trips to see the arkenstone was the only place the dust had been disturbed.  But it was strewn with rubble and places where little more than luck got Bilbo through. It looked at least as though the way out would be easier than the way in, and for that he was grateful.

 

Eventually, he came to a small clearing with three doors.  The one to his left was smashed to oblivion, the room behind it obviously caved in.  The one to the right appeared intact, but there were such thick cobwebs across it that it couldn’t have been opened for many years.  Only the door in the middle could be the correct one. Bilbo opened it slowly, hoping not to startle Thorin.

 

He cursed when the hinges squealed as the door swung in, holding his torch aloft to increase the circle of its light.  “Thorin?” His soft voice seemed strangely flat in the small room. Nothing moved. Bilbo swept the torch around him, but nothing was revealed.  Thorin wasn’t there.

 

Had Bilbo taken a wrong turn somewhere?  Had he made a mistake? Had he been wrong in assuming that Thorin spent their time apart with the arkenstone?

 

Disheartened, Bilbo turned to go.  As he did, the light made something in a very old chest glimmer.  He could see the shine of it through the ancient wood. With bated breath, Bilbo went over to it and knelt down.  Something was singing along his veins, something like guilt or nervousness but also a sickly sweet sense of anticipation.  Whatever was in the box was calling to him.

 

He knew what was going to be inside before he even lifted the lid, but he was helpless not to look.  The lid of the trunk fell back with a thud and there it was. The arkenstone, nestled amid a bed of silk, shining with all its might in the darkness.

 

For just a moment, Bilbo again felt the pull of the thing.  He felt awestruck by its beauty as he had been the first time he’d laid eyes on it.  A fraction of a thought streaked across his mind, about what he deserved, what he’d  _ earned _ , but it was instantly shaken away.  The stone was evil. Bilbo knew that in his heart, and it allowed him to shield himself from the arkenstone’s power.  All it could do was glimmer in the flickering light, a blaze amid the void, truly the greatest jewel of the mountain.

 

Bilbo’s hand reached out before he’d even realized he moved.  No, the stone could not poison his mind, but it was still dazzling, still irresistible.  He just wanted to touch it one last time, feel the unnatural heat that radiated from it, and then he would find where Thorin had gone.  One more brush of smooth gem beneath his fingers and Bilbo would be content to never see the bloody thing ever again.

 

His fingertips had barely skimmed the warm surface when he heard a growl behind him.  He jerked his hand back as though the stone had burned him, barely daring to turn.

 

_ “What- are you doing- here-” _  The voice was Thorin’s, but unearthly, demonic.  It made Bilbo’s blood run cold. He forced himself to put his back to the arkenstone and face the king.

 

“I was,” Bilbo’s voice wavered, but he pushed on, “looking for you.”

 

“For me,  _ thief, _ or for  _ my treasure!” _

 

Thorin stepped forward, the claws on his feet once again raking the ground.  Steam rose eerily off his scales. In another step, he was fully in the circle of light.  The familiar glacial blue of his eyes was shot through with crimson. He took another step forward, and Bilbo stepped backwards.  His legs hit the chest holding the arkenstone. Thorin growled ominously.

 

“T-to find you,” Bilbo insisted.  “You can’t stay with this thing like you have been.  It is destroying you, Thorin. Soon there won’t be any of  _ you _ left!  We need to- to-”

 

“To  _ what, _ traitor?  Get rid of my  _ birthright? _  The greatest treasure in Erebor?  And what shall we do with it? Let me guess.   _ You’ll _ take it for me.  Won’t you,  _ faithless rat.” _  He took another threatening step forward.  Bilbo could not back away any further.

 

“No!  Not- not unless you asked me to.  I could take it somewhere, if you wanted me to, put it somewhere far away and then return, but not-”

 

“You will not  _ touch _ the arkenstone, nor will you be leaving this mountain.   _ Ever.” _ He lunged forward, hatred dark in his eyes, and Bilbo dodged away.  He made a dash for the door without looking back. It was only when Thorin’s enraged roaring echoed down the hall behind him that Bilbo realized his smaller size made it easier for him to move through the passage.  It was likely the only thing that had saved his life.

 

Even when the sound of Thorin’s wrath grew distant, Bilbo did not stop.  He plunged through tunnels with ever increasing familiarity until he came to one he had not seen since he had first arrived, and turned down it.  The path Gandalf’s robes had made in the dust was once again covered with a layer of the stuff, but it was visible to Bilbo’s keen eyes. He retraced their steps until he found the room they’d entered through.

 

Before he could take the time to stop and think, to possibly reconsider his decision, he scrambled up the tunnel and out into the cool evening air.

 

Free of the mountain, Bilbo stood, swaying.  He had no idea how long it had been since he’d last seen the sky.  The stars. Felt grass beneath his feet. Fresh air in his lungs. It made him tremble, the enormity of it all, the freedom.  A weight that had settled on his heart when he’d closed himself away from the sun lifted. The light from the full moon seemed nearly as bright as midday, and Bilbo was struck dumb by its beauty.

 

It wasn’t until a crash shook the ground beneath his feet and birds took off from nearby trees in fright that Bilbo remembered his own flight.  He had no idea how far out of the mountain Thorin would chase him - how much distance he was willing to allow between himself and the arkenstone.  Bilbo knew he left far enough to get food for them when needed, but he had no way of knowing where the boundaries of that were. Rather than take any chance, Bilbo began running again.

 

He did not stop to consider where he was going or what he planned to do.  If there had been anything more than fear and grief and shock in his mind, he would have turned south and gone to the city of Dale.  From there, he could have found Bard, who would have welcomed him until Gandalf could be summoned.

 

But with logic left behind in the mountain, Bilbo raced east, into the woods.  The trees provided the only cover in his sight, and that was good enough. He did not stop until the brush around him grew so dense that he was left with no other choice.  Only then did he catch his breath and begin to think.

 

The first thing he realized was the foolishness of his mistake to seek immediate hiding rather than the farther but more lasting security of the city.  On the heels of that thought came the question of what, exactly, he was doing. Was he fleeing from Erebor for good? Was he leaving Thorin behind? Had he finally decided that Thorin could not be saved?

 

He was absolutely certain that Thorin had meant to kill him in that little room, with the arkenstone as his only witness.  Bilbo was not eager to throw his life away… but despite the terror that had barely faded, he could not believe that the threat would last.  Out of immediate reach of the stone, once his rage had time to cool, he would be more reasonable. Perhaps there was still time for Bilbo to come up with another way to help him.  Perhaps-

 

A twig behind him snapped, and Bilbo’s heart leapt into his throat.  In spite of what he’d just been convincing himself, he was by no means ready to face Thorin yet.  He whirled around, ready to run again. The eyes that were shining out of the trees were not warring blue and red.  They were yellow. A snarl ripped through the night air.

 

Out of the darkness stepped a warg.  It was enormous, its wicked fangs glistening with freely flowing saliva, and it was obviously starving.  Bilbo knew first hand how savage wargs were under ideal circumstances. He was not certain he wanted to know how vicious they would be wild and starved.  Another stepped out beside the first, then another. 

 

Bilbo stared at the emerging pack, frozen and breathless.  This was not the first time he had faced wargs, but it was the only time he’d been up against them alone and unarmed.  He had nothing except the pack on his back and the rope therein. Even the torch he had left behind in the mountain. He was defenseless.

 

The closest warg snapped at him, spurring Bilbo to action.  He turned to the tree behind him and made a leap for the lowest sturdy branch.  Hobbits are no climbers by nature - as Bilbo had confirmed once already on the journey to Erebor - but his experiences had made Bilbo no ordinary hobbit.  His hands wrapped around the limb and held tight. With a swing, he brought his feet up too and they locked together.

 

There wasn’t even a moment to rejoice, however, because the branch was not higher than the biggest warg’s jaws could reach on a jump.  A set of jagged fangs closed firmly over Bilbo’s pack and a large chunk of his vest. He was yanked down by the weight of the beast and they both crashed back to the ground.  The warg was momentarily stunned by the fall, as Bilbo had landed atop him, and Bilbo took the precious moment of favor to wrench himself free. He stumbled forward even as the other wargs closed in.

 

Desperate, he raised the first things that his hands closed around as a weapons.  The stick in his right was thick enough to be a passable cudgel and the rock in his left was weighty.  As more wargs began to circle, Bilbo knew there was no way he could survive this… but he was not going to give up without fighting to his very last breath.

 

One of the wargs sprang at him.  Bilbo used the club to block it’s maw and wood splintered instead of his arm.  A second lunged. The rock slammed against its head, sending it crashing to the ground.  A third was already flying through the air toward him and Bilbo did not have time to fend it off.  He could only close his eyes against the snarling face of death looming closer.

 

He braced.  There was a crash.  But the warg never hit him.  Bilbo opened his eyes.

 

Thorin was crouched in front of Bilbo protectively, his mouth curled into a vicious snarl of his own.  The warg that had sprung at Bilbo was limp on the ground several feet away. The rest of them snapped and growled, sizing up their new challenger.  Thorin growled right back. Despite Thorin’s ferocity, the pack must have decided their advantage in numbers was enough. Almost as one, they attacked.

 

What followed was a blur that Bilbo could hardly track.  Thorin tore the first warg that reached him nearly in half.  The claws on his hands hadn’t fully grown back, but the strength of his arms had only increased.  Scarlet streaked the air. Another warg came from the left. Thorin caught it around the throat and used the momentum of its own attack to swing it towards his chest.  In a single twist, its neck snapped.

 

Awed as he was, Bilbo was no mere spectator.  When one of the beasts leaped from behind them, he used his rock to send it yelping back.  Another realized the threat and danced just beyond Bilbo’s reach, looking for any opening. Bilbo wished more than anything he had Sting in his belt.

 

Thorin roared in pain as teeth sank into his thigh, piercing the softer scales there.  Ignoring the still stalking threat to himself, Bilbo turned back and bashed the warg biting Thorin on its head.  Thorin’s arm shot out just in time to catch the one lunging for Bilbo by its throat. He did the same to one coming from his right.

 

The leader, watching calculatingly, saw his chance.  His enemy’s hands were occupied, and could not be freed without risk.  He lunged forward. Bilbo shouted a warning, helpless to interfere. Thorin did not shrink back.  Instead, dragging the wargs in his hands along, he threw himself forward to meet his attacker. They slammed together.  For a moment, it was impossible to tell who had ended up on top. The crunch of bone splintering seemed louder than any scream in Bilbo’s ears.  The pile of fur and claw and scales stilled for a moment.

 

Thorin was on top.

 

He braced his knee against the chest of the warg and threw his head back, ripping the beast’s throat out.  Even after he spat flesh and tendons from his mouth, blood still coated his fangs.

 

Their leader dead, the other wargs scattered.  In an instant, there was no sound but Thorin’s rumbling breaths and Bilbo’s panting.  Thorin’s eyes landed on Bilbo, and this time, there was no anger in them. There was  _ relief. _  He took a single step forward, then staggered.  Blood poured down his leg freely. Bilbo rushed forward in time to catch Thorin as he collapsed.

 

***

 

Bilbo worked automatically, not a single moment wasted on doubt.  He got the rope from his pack, used one of Thorin’s claws to cut a length of it, then tied it tightly just above the wound on Thorin’s thigh.  The bleeding slowed. He glanced around in the undergrowth, but did not see any kingsfoil, so he bound the punctures without and would add some when he found a plant.

 

A quickly aborted heave told Bilbo that he could not carry or even drag Thorin’s dead weight.  Not like this. Constantly watching out for the wargs to return, he found two long branches, set them a short distance apart from each other on the ground, then weaved the remaining rope between them.  The litter that it produced was not pretty, nor was it meant to last, but it would make the trek back to the mountain. Bilbo rolled Thorin onto it, hefted the end supporting Thorin’s head in his hands, and began dragging him out of the woods.

 

It was a slow, arduous journey, but they made it without any more incidents.  Getting Thorin back into the mountain, however, required some level of cooperation.  Bilbo roused him as best he could and then guided the still dazed dwarf down the narrow passage.

 

Instead of returning to the treasure room, Bilbo took them to the closest of the bed chambers that they had found.  He stripped back the dusty coverlet before lowering Thorin onto the mattress, then dashed to the water room. He returned with bandages and the soothing salve.  With trembling hands, Bilbo crushed the kingsfoil he’d uprooted on their return and mixed it in with a handful of the paste. He cleaned the jagged bite, applied a thick layer of the fortified salve, bound it tightly, then removed the rope he’d tied above the injury.  When blood did not immediately soak through the bandage, Bilbo let out a sigh of relief.

 

He let Thorin sleep, and went out again to gather supplies.


	13. Chapter 13

By the time Thorin next woke, Bilbo had already brought the candles, books, bedding, and food they’d been keeping beside the throne into the bedchamber.  He’d also removed every single trace of gold from the room. Even the tapestry with golden colored threads had been taken out.

 

There was a basin filled with fresh water above a tarnished looking glass, torches providing heat and light (Bilbo had wanted to light a fire, but the flue was obviously blocked and he had no idea how to fix it), and Bilbo had dusted off an armchair and pulled it to the bedside to read in.

 

The first thing Thorin heard was Bilbo’s voice, low and soothing beside him.  His leg throbbed, but nowhere near as badly as it deserved to. As memory of the fight came back to him, so too did the events before it.  He groaned as guilt and shame for his actions hit him fully. He’d nearly killed Bilbo. He’d  _ wanted _ to kill him.  If Bilbo hadn’t run…

 

“Thorin?  Are you alright?”

 

The concern in Bilbo’s tone made Thorin finally open his eyes.  There should not have been concern there. Bilbo should have felt nothing but hatred for him.  He should have left Thorin to bleed to death in the forest. He should have-

 

“Thorin?”  Bilbo’s face shifted into view, his features drawn with worry.  “Are you alright?” The repeated question made Thorin groan again.  He wasn’t alright. He hadn’t been for a long time, and he wasn’t sure he ever would be again.  “Thorin?!”

 

“I- am fine.”  It was a lie, but the relief that washed over Bilbo’s face was worth it.

 

“Thank the stars.  I thought- I thought-”  He shook his head. “Well it doesn’t matter.  You’re awake, and your leg is already mending nicely.  Those bloody scales are good for one thing, apparently.  When I last changed your bandage, new ones had grown over the wounds.  They still look fragile, so you’ll probably need to stay in bed for a while, but hopefully you’re no worse for the wear.”

 

Thorin turned away, shamed by Bilbo’s care and attention.  “You should not have bothered.”

 

“Bothered what?”

 

“Saving me.”

 

Bilbo chuckled.  “It seemed only fair, considering you saved my life.”

 

“You were only out in those woods because of me.”

 

“And you only acted the way you did because of the arkenstone.”

 

“That’s not an excuse!”  The snarled words reverberated in the small room differently than they would have in the treasure chamber.  It made Thorin’s voice seem louder, and yet more… real. When Bilbo spoke again, his own voice was soft. He rested his hand on Thorin’s chest lightly.

 

“No, it’s not.  It’s a reason. An unfortunate one, but a true one.  You are  _ sick, _ Thorin.  The arkenstone has spent years perverting your mind and body.  A rabid dog is not blamed for its savagery. It is the  _ disease _ that turns them.  But your madness can be  _ cured. _  If we could get you away from the arkenstone, or destroy it, you could-”

 

“I  _ can’t!” _  Thorin’s fingers tangled into his hair and tugged in his frustration.  “Do you think I have not tried? That I did not see my weakness and attempt to distance myself from the stone to overcome it?”

 

“That was before you could acknowledge that the stone is the  _ cause _ of all this.  Now that you can see-”  Bilbo broke off, suddenly unsure.  “You do see it now, don’t you, Thorin?  What the stone is doing to you? That it is the arkenstone infecting you with the gold lust and dragonsickness?”

 

“I… I don’t-” Thorin hesitated, still reluctant to speak against the power that held him so enthralled.  But he shook his head, the memory of the murderous rage he’d felt seeing Bilbo merely touching the stone still sharp in his mind.  “Yes. I know.” Bilbo sighed in relief, but Thorin held up a hand to halt him. “It changes nothing.”

 

“How can it not?” Bilbo cried.  “Knowing that the stone is making you sick should help you overcome its hold.  We could-”

 

“Listen to me,” Thorin interjected wearily.  “We have both seen the results of you being anywhere near the arkenstone.  I will not abide that risk to you again. And I  _ know _ I will not have the strength to act against it so drastically.  The way it calls to me… you can’t understand… it is a lure, a siren song, a thousand whispers in my mind overruling whatever thoughts I might have.”

 

Bilbo sighed again, running a hand tiredly over his face.  “I do understand,” he admitted. Thorin looked at him curiously, and Bilbo let out a bitter laugh.  “I have felt its pull twice now. In the very beginning, when I first took it, it was not with noble intentions in mind.  Those did not come till later. I saw it and was beguiled by its beauty. I suspected what it was, but I let myself be convinced that it could be my fourteenth share of the treasure.  My mind whispered that you had promised I could choose my share, and that gave me the right. Even just now, knowing what I do about it, hating it as I do, I wanted to touch it. I truly did go there looking for you, not with any intention of getting anywhere near the stone.  But when I realized it was there, all I wanted to do was feel it under my fingers again…”

 

He curled his hands into fists.  “So I  _ do _ understand, Thorin.  I know that what it does to you, the way it speaks to you, is a thousand times stronger than the effect it has on me, but I do understand.”

 

“Then you must believe me when I say that I  _ cannot _ overthrow it.  And I refuse to risk your life having you try.  Promise me you won’t.”

 

“Thorin-”

 

“Swear it to me!”

 

“Alright,” Bilbo agreed reluctantly.  “I won’t try to get rid of or destroy the stone on my own.”

 

Thorin seemed to relax at the promise, and let his eyes flutter shut again.  “Thank you.” Bilbo hummed a tepid response, making Thorin smile a little. “I will think of something we can do yet, halfling.  Since you refuse to give up on me, the least I can do is return the favor.”

 

“Very kind of you,” Bilbo groused.  Thorin smiled again without opening his eyes, this one wider than the last.

 

“For now, return to your reading.  You were just getting to the best part of the story.  The bit that proves, conclusively, that dwarves are superior to elves.”

 

Bilbo laughed and picked up the book again.

 

*** 

 

Even after Thorin’s leg was fully recovered, they did not return to living in the treasure room.  Neither of them spoke of it aloud, but it was obvious how much better it was for Thorin to be away from the gold.  They shared the single bed in the room when Bilbo slept, almost always touching though nothing sexual had passed between them since before the attack.  It was a quiet kind of intimacy, spending their time in relative peace, but it could not last forever.

 

Bilbo had begun to offer suggestions of what they might do with the arkenstone.  Thorin outright forbade any that involved secrecy or Bilbo acting on his own. He could not destroy the stone, and they decided quickly that Bilbo hiding it from him would not be a good idea.

 

When Bilbo had suggested he could take the gem to Thranduil, Thorin had grown so inflamed that actual smoke had billowed out of his nose.  Bilbo thought that was quite answer enough. His attempt to make the same suggestion again but with Gandalf as the recipient instead was met with a less visceral response, but still negative.  Thorin already mistrusted and disliked Gandalf. Knowing that he had the arkenstone, Thorin’s birthright, would make Thorin despise him.

 

However they got rid of the stone, Bilbo knew it somehow needed to be an act of love.  Hatred or desperation or selfishness would not be enough to vanquish its power. It was a simple thought, perhaps even a childish one, but Bilbo knew it in his heart to be true.  Love was the only thing that was going to overcome the arkenstone. He just needed to figure out how.

 

In the interim, something still needed to be done.  No longer surrounded by gold, Thorin did not feel the pull of the arkenstone as strongly, but he did still feel it.  There was not enough distance between it and him for him to have any peace. When the need to go to it became greater than he could bear, he accepted that he would give in, but he did not intend to let it happen again.  He planned to take the stone deeper into the mountain, to the very heart of it where the stone had first been discovered. 

 

Bilbo wanted to go with him, but Thorin would not allow it.  Not only did he still not trust himself around Bilbo with the source of his madness so close at hand, but he also knew that the path would be dangerous.  Much of the deeper tunnels in the mountain had survived the collapse, but the mines had been dangerous even before the fall of Erebor. Thorin could not risk Bilbo being harmed by a collapsing shaft or other mishap.

 

It was only with great reluctance that Bilbo saw Thorin off.  He wondered if this would be the last time he saw Thorin, or if he would come back changed.  Or if he would come back with the stone in hand, decided that Bilbo’s company was not worth life without the curse’s proximity.

 

There was little he could do but wait, and hope.

 

He had no idea how long he held vigil, waiting for Thorin to return.  It seemed endless. Exhaustion eventually set in, but worry would not allow him to rest.  No amount of books to read or mindless chores to do seemed able to fill the time.

 

Eventually, Thorin’s shadow fell across Bilbo where he sat before the fire.  Bilbo’s breath caught. For a single moment, he could not bring himself to look.  Would there be madness in Thorin’s eyes again? Would he be holding the stone? But then the moment passed and Bilbo could not get up quickly enough.  He needed to see Thorin’s face, needed to hold him to believe that he really had returned.

 

Thorin’s eyes were clear blue.  Bilbo’s heart leapt. He threw himself forward and buried his face against Thorin’s neck.  Though he was sore and exhausted, Thorin was happy to bear the weight of the male that he loved.  Happy that through this all, Bilbo  _ wanted _ to put himself in Thorin’s arms.  It was some kind of miracle, a tribute to both the kindness of Mahal and the steadfast heart of hobbits.

 

Bilbo’s lips found Thorin’s, and then they were kissing desperately, as if this would be their last one.  All the urges that Thorin had been subduing surged to the fore, leaving him breathless with desire. Without giving them conscious command to, Thorin’s feet moved to the bed.  Bilbo leaned back onto it, tugging Thorin down with him.

 

Laces were undone with impatient fingers, but they took no time for anything else.  Thorin’s hand circled both their cocks and stroked. With a stifled cry of pleasure, Bilbo hooked his heels behind Thorin’s back to urge him on.  The position gave him the leverage to thrust into Thorin’s fist, increasing the friction between them. It was almost too much to bear. Thorin slipped into Khuzdul, but his tone did not go savage the way it usually did.  It was soft, almost reverent. 

 

Bilbo understood bits and pieces of it, but what struck him most was what Thorin called him.    _ Bunnanunê _ .  Treasure.  It was no small thing for Thorin to say.  But even with the sweetness of that, he wondered why Thorin would not say his name.  It had been far too long since he had. He made plans to ask Thorin about it, but his thoughts were swept away as his orgasm washed through him.

 

“Thorin!”

 

It was less than a moment later that Thorin followed, spilling across Bilbo’s stomach.  The waistcoat was thoroughly soiled, but it had been more than worth it. Bilbo huffed out a laugh as they tried to untangle from each other.  There was a pause, then Thorin joined him, giving up attempting to move away and dropping his forehead to Bilbo’s instead. His chuckle sounded like the best thing in the world to Bilbo.

 

“This… was not what I had planned.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Thorin colored a little.  “Not that I expected us to fall into bed in  _ any _ fashion-”

 

“Of course not,” Bilbo said with mock sincerity.

 

“The  _ plan,” _ Thorin continued, ignoring Bilbo’s interruption, “was to tell you that the arkenstone is as deep within the mountain as it can go, and ask you if we can… if  _ I _ can - start over.”

 

“Start over?”

 

“None of this was how I should have-  I did not court you as you deserved. I was, quite literally, beastly.  And now… this was not what I wanted between us. Not this way. I wanted to tell you that you are not a prisoner here.  You never truly were. But that if,” his voice grew tight and he swallowed before going on, “if you  _ choose _ to stay, then it would be not as my subject or prisoner or pet, but as my companion.  And I would like nothing more than to have the opportunity to treat you as such.”

 

Bilbo blinked, his emotions nearly overwhelming him.  Then, he smiled. “Are you asking me on a date, Thorin Oakenshield?”  The flush that had spread across Thorin’s cheeks made its way to the tips of his ears.

 

“That depends.”

 

“On?”

 

“Would this be a proper way to do so, by hobbit customs?”

 

“Well hobbits being a comfortable folk means we go about romance in a comfortable sort of way, too.  I’ll admit that in bed with the wet evidence of lovemaking cooling between them is perhaps not a traditional fashion, but it will serve well enough.”  Bilbo put his hand up before Thorin could speak again. “With one exception.”

 

“And that is?”

 

“Usually, the one doing the asking is willing to say his prospective partner’s name.  You haven’t said mine since-” Bilbo paused, thinking back.

 

“I lost the right to,” Thorin whispered, his face lined with regret.  “And I will not do so again until you give me leave.”

 

Bilbo remembered, then.  He’d told Thorin not to. He’d told him… Bilbo couldn’t recall the exact words he’d said in his anger, but they had been hard and cold.   _ He _ was the one who’d told Thorin not to call him by his name.  He framed Thorin’s face with his hands and kissed him softly.

 

“You have it.  If I had any doubts, the fact that you respected my words enough not to do so for this long, even when you were under the worst of the dragonsickness, has  _ earned _ you the right again.  Please, Thorin, say my name.”

 

“Bilbo.”  Thorin kissed him sweetly, briefly.  “Bilbo.” He kissed him again. “My Bilbo.”  They kissed a third time, and then it deepened until their tongues twined and their breath grew short.  “Does this mean that you accept my offer? You’ll stay, and let me court you?”

 

Bilbo chuckled.  “Of course I’ll stay, you oblivious dwarf.  I’ve been choosing to stay this whole time, and I’ll  _ keep _ choosing to stay as long as there is a  _ you _ left to stay with.  I seem to have fallen quite hard for you somewhere along the way.”

 

_ “Mahal _ only knows why.”

 

“Your god isn’t the only one.   _ I _ know why.  I’ve known from the beginning.  The only one that needs reminding is you.  But I’ll keep doing it until you finally accept it.”

 

“It may take a long time,” Thorin hedged.

 

“Then it’s a good thing I’ve no intention of going anywhere any time soon.  Except to the water room to wash this waistcoat. We’ve managed to get it absolutely filthy.”

 

Thorin laughed and helped Bilbo out of his shirt.


	14. Chapter 14

Again, the rhythm of their time together changed, but this time it was for the better.  Thorin did indeed seem to be trying to court Bilbo as well as he could in the ruins of an abandoned kingdom.  They explored more together, expanding Bilbo’s small library and adding other trinkets they both found pleasing to their room.  Bilbo often read aloud to Thorin, practicing his Khuzdul, tales of the seven dwarf lords, of the exploration of various mountains, of great deeds accomplished by dwarves through history.  Thorin also began asking about Bilbo’s past and home. Happily, Bilbo told him more about the Shire, about his family, about hobbit customs. 

 

Not once did Thorin attempt to return to the treasure room, nor did he seek out the arkenstone.

 

Slowly, the progress that they’d lost in Thorin’s return to less beastly features was being remade.  The scales receded. Together, they once again cut off his claws. His height crept back down to a more dwarvish stature.  Even his fangs, which had never gone away before, seemed to dull and reshape.

 

Bilbo privately thought that all this strain on Thorin’s body could not be a good thing, but he hoped that this time would be the last change.

 

Despite Thorin’s return to a more natural size, they had not yet attempted any further sexual exploits beyond the things they’d already mastered.  The main difference was that now, Thorin was willing to touch Bilbo - and what a difference that was.

 

Each time Bilbo came with Thorin’s fingers filling him, with Thorin’s hand gripping him, with Thorin’s mouth placing wet kisses along his neck, Bilbo’s desire for more grew.  He almost suggested it more than once, but the memory of what had happened that first time lingered. Thorin was very much himself, and his size was not the same concern that it had been, but there was always a chance that he might lose control.  And Bilbo wouldn’t be the only one hurt if that happened.

 

Despite the stagnation of that aspect of their relationship, they became even closer than Bilbo could have hoped.  Without the constant interference of the arkenstone, Thorin was exceptionally considerate of his companion. Doting, even.  He made a point to see to Bilbo’s every need. To Bilbo’s surprise, he even suggested that Bilbo go with him the next time he hunted.

 

It was a joy to see the outside world again, this time with Thorin at his side.  It was night once more - Thorin seemed to somehow be able to keep track of dawn and dusk, even within the mountain - but though Bilbo longed to see the sunshine, the fresh air and grass beneath his feet was enough.

 

They stayed near each other, but while Thorin tracked game near the mountain path, Bilbo took the time to hunt for food other than meat.  His options were limited without going further into the forest, but by the time Thorin had brought down a boar, he had a nice little pile of mushrooms and a precious few berries the birds hadn’t found.

 

He showed them eagerly to Thorin, who looked almost pained at Bilbo’s delight in so simple a thing as a few mushrooms.  But he kissed Bilbo’s forehead and promised him that next time, he would show Bilbo where more grew. Bilbo was so happy with the prospect that he didn’t voice any complaint that it was already time to return to Erebor.  He could see that though distance from the stone had helped Thorin in many ways, it had made being outside of the mountain even more difficult for him.

 

When the boar was dressed and they’d eaten, they washed up and returned to their room.  Bilbo was exceptionally satisfied with the roasted mushrooms he’d made. He’d even gotten Thorin to try one and admit that they were delicious, though Thorin had refused more and insisted that Bilbo enjoy them.  

 

Sated, happy, and hopeful for the future, Bilbo dropped into the chair by the fire with a smile on his face.  Things were going well. Really well. Hobbits weren't designed for life in a mountain, but this was where Bilbo could be truly happy.  This was more of a life together than he’d ever thought they could have. It hadn’t been that long ago that Bilbo had thought Thorin was  _ dead. _  Now, they were living together,  _ courting, _ sharing a bed…

 

Just as the thought crossed Bilbo’s mind, Thorin started pulling off his clothing.  They had gotten spattered with blood during his hunt, and he tossed them away so unaffectedly that it seemed somehow sensual.  Bilbo had always been attracted to Thorin, and now that the scales were mostly gone, he was reminded of exactly why. His arms and legs were thickly muscled and covered in fine dark hair.  That same hair stretched across his chest and tapered in a line down to his navel, then lower still until it met the patch of coarser hairs above his cock.

 

Dwarves were different from hobbits in many ways.  Their more starkly male features were one of them. Hobbits were softer creatures, male or female.  They tended to settle down together in male and female couples for the convenience of producing offspring, but it certainly wasn’t unheard of for a hobbit lass to only prefer partners of her own gender, or for two males to decide they liked each other more than the idea of biological children.  Bilbo had shared several carefree tumbles with both genders, though he’d quickly developed preferences in sex that mostly required males.

 

But he’d never felt the need to find one partner to settle down with.  Hadn’t found one special hobbit that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.  One that he wanted to spend the rest of his  _ nights _ with.  And  _ this _ was why.  Thorin stepped out of his trousers, and Bilbo swallowed hard.  Females were beautiful creatures in almost any race, strong and shapely and neatly tucked in, but that wasn’t what Bilbo was inherently drawn to.  It was the dramatic masculinity of Thorin that made his heart rate increase, the rugged features, the solid bulk of him that could pin a partner to the bed with ease.

 

Hobbits disliked being manhandled by Big Folk as a general rule.  It was insulting to be treated like children or tossed about as one would a toy.   Even still, there was something erotic, something thrilling, about  _ Thorin _ being the one to touch him so overbearingly.  To hold him tightly and blanket Bilbo’s body with his own and press him down into the mattress while he-

 

Bilbo cleared his throat suddenly and flushed.  Thorin turned, his trousers halfway down his thighs.  Almost immediately, his eyes were drawn to Bilbo’s lap, and the bulge that had formed there.  Blushing even more hotly, Bilbo covered himself with his hands.

 

“That’s certainly nothing to be embarrassed about,” Thorin assured him, gaze hooded and suddenly hungry.

 

“I’m not embarrassed!”

 

Thorin chuckled.  “The lovely rose color in your cheeks says otherwise, little one.”

 

“Maybe I’m just-” Bilbo stopped, realizing that  _ sun burnt _ was the worst possible alternative he could come up with.  Thorin laughed again, then crossed to Bilbo’s chair. He knelt in front of it.

 

“No need to defend yourself.  I rather like this blush. And I certainly like what’s under here.”  He gently lifted Bilbo’s hands away and then caressed the hardness with one of his own.  “I’ve been thinking, there’s something I’d like to try.”

 

Bilbo’s heart rate almost doubled and his cock jerked in excitement.  He hadn’t been the only one thinking about it. And really, it was time.   _ Past _ time, more like.  There was nothing standing in their way any longer except the past, and Bilbo was ready to let that go.  They could finally-

 

“Will you let me put my mouth on you, the way you have for me?”

 

“Oh!”  Bilbo immediately wiped away the look of disappointment that had flashed across his face, but Thorin had seen it.  He raised a brow at Bilbo incredulously.

 

“You would rather I did not?”

 

“No!  No, that’s not it at all!  That would be- well that would be very lovely indeed!  I just thought… Well there’s something I’ve been thinking about us doing, too.”

 

“Will it be hindered by me sucking your cock?”

 

For a moment, Bilbo thought maybe it would, but the thought of Thorin doing  _ this,  _ combined with what he wanted to do  _ next, _ left little doubt in Bilbo’s mind that he would be able to come twice.  He shook his head. “No.”

 

“Then allow me to do this first, and we can talk more after.”  Thorin was already unlacing Bilbo’s breeches, but waited for Bilbo to nod his agreement before engulfing the head of Bilbo’s cock.

 

If he’d had any thought of trying to remain quiet during Thorin’s ministrations, it would have been obliterated from the first.  Thorin’s mouth was hot and insistent. There was no warning, no subtlety, no teasing. He held Bilbo’s cock prisoner and assaulted him with sweet pleasure until Bilbo was reduced to a writhing mass.  Bilbo never wanted it to end. Unfortunately, his body could only take so much attention, and he was vaulted towards orgasm with startling speed.

 

“Tho- _ rin!” _  His hands flew to Thorin’s hair, but couldn’t decide if they wanted to push him back or urge him on.  “I’m going- I’m going to-”

 

Either Thorin did not hear Bilbo’s warning or he did not care, because his pace only increased.  He took Bilbo’s entire cock in his mouth and sucked hard, and that was all Bilbo could take. He came roughly, hips bucking and profanity falling from his lips.  Thorin gentled his intensity but sucked him through it, drawing out the pleasure until Bilbo had to push his head away with a plea.

 

He collapsed back in the chair, head still spinning and chest rising and falling sharply as he tried to catch his breath.  Thorin was placing small, sweet kisses up his thighs, the rasp of his beard accentuating how sensitive Bilbo was. When Thorin raised his head, Bilbo could see that he was aroused, cock curving up towards his belly but ignored in favor of Bilbo’s needs.

 

“Thorin,” Bilbo managed to say beyond the tightness in his throat.  Thorin looked up, a gentle smile curling his lips. His eyes sparkled in a way that said he’d enjoyed what they’d done just as much as Bilbo.  “Take me to bed.”

 

More than willing to comply, Thorin scooped Bilbo up and carried him easily to the bed.  He settled them both down on it. Bilbo remained snugly in Thorin’s arms.

 

“Now.  What was it you wanted to try, then?”

 

Bilbo gave himself one more moment to have second thoughts.  One more moment to seriously consider if this was what he wanted, especially now that he wasn’t uninhibited by need.  But that moment was all he needed. Thorin’s cock, trapped between their bodies still hard and ignored with no urge of reciprocation, no demands, was telling enough, even without all the myriad other reasons Bilbo knew this was the right time.

 

“I want you to take me.”

 

The relaxed smile fell from Thorin’s face.  “You want me to-” He faltered, blinking in consternation.

 

“Take me,” Bilbo repeated.  “Make love to me, fuck me, be inside of me.”

 

“But that- we-”

 

“I don’t want to talk about what happened in the past.  I want to focus on right now. On what we have, on what we both want.  And I-”

 

“If you don’t want to talk about what happened before, fine, but  _ I _ will.  I  _ hurt _ you, Bilbo!  I had no control, no consideration.  I left you bleeding and didn’t even care.  Not the stone, not the sickness, me, myself.”

 

Bilbo shook his head angrily.  “We’ve talked about this, Thorin.  That was  _ not _ you, no matter what you say.  Yes, you hurt me once before. But you’ve already proven that you can control yourself.  You aren’t as you were then. Just  _ look _ at you!  The scales and claws are almost completely gone, you’ve nearly returned to your proper size, you never even hiss any more.  You are more yourself than you have been since you first set foot in this mountain.”

 

“There’s no way to know for certain-”

 

“That you won’t hurt me?  Do you want proof?” He pushed himself up to sitting and glared down at Thorin with insincere ferocity.  “I’m going to go find the arkenstone right now. I’m going to find it, and  _ swallow it whole, _ and the only way you’ll ever see it again is if you rip me open.”  Thorin looked nothing but horrified at the thought. Bilbo pushed further.  “And if you won’t do that, then I’ll run away with the stone still in my belly.  I’ll go live with Thranduil. I’ll ask him to keep me hidden away in his kingdom, and you’ll never see me or the damn stone again!”

 

Thorin snorted steam and growled, eyes narrowed.  “No  _ elf _ will keep you from me,  _ bunnanunê _ .  I would tear those woods apart to get you back.”

 

“To get back  _ me, _ or the stone?”

 

“I-” Thorin shook his head, as though he’d forgotten about the stone entirely.

 

“If you had to choose, if you could only get one back, which would you take?”

 

Thorin raked his hand through his hair.  “Do not ask me that, Bilbo! I know you have faith that I would choose you without hesitation, but I  _ cannot _ be without the stone - nor can I be without you.  I need you, but I need it, too. Perhaps… perhaps I would choose you.  I would get you back by my side foremost, but I would spend every breath remaining in my body trying to get the stone back after.”  He dropped his hand to cover his eyes, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Bilbo any longer. There were spots of color high on his cheekbones, and he felt they were flags of shame, displayed for anyone to see.

 

Bilbo gently pulled Thorin’s hand away.  Instead of the mistrust and anger he expected on Bilbo’s face, there was a smile.  “Don’t you see?  _ That _ is why, Thorin.  That is precisely why I can trust you with myself, wholly and completely.  Before, you would have threatened to rip me open on the spot just to make sure I  _ hadn’t _ swallowed the stone.  You would have gone into proxims of rage at the idea of me getting anywhere near Thranduil with it, and you certainly wouldn’t have wanted me back after.  Mercy’s sake, you tried to throw me off the ramparts for taking it to him the first time.”

 

“I’ll never be able to earn your forgiveness for that,” Thorin said thickly, kissing Bilbo’s palm and then pressing his forehead against it.

 

“You already  _ have. _  But that’s not the point.  The fact that you even hesitated to think which of us you would pick says how far you’ve come.  I understand that you can’t control the way you are drawn to the stone, but that you would still be able to even  _ consider _ picking me if I took it there is enough.  That you think you  _ would, _ no matter what you would do to also get the stone back after, is more than I would have dared hope for.   _ This _ is why we can.  Why I’m yours, Thorin Oakenshield.  Completely. And I want you to show me that.”

 

Bilbo laid back down on the bed, looking up at Thorin trustingly.  Thorin wrestled with himself. He wanted to believe Bilbo’s words. Wanted  _ wanting _ to pick Bilbo to be enough.  But how could he? What kind of dwarf was he that when confronted with the choice of his lover, his partner, his cherished one, or a jewel, he could not be certain which he would pick?  He hated himself for that. Hated what he’d become, what the dragonsickness had turned him into. And more, he hated that  _ knowing _ the stone was the cause was not enough to stop him for longing for it.  He should be stronger, strong enough to give it to the blasted elf, or destroy it.  His weakness shamed and disgusted him, but he could not overcome it. He could barely think of living without the stone.

 

But somehow, for Bilbo, it was enough.  This version of him that was all that remained, half the dwarf he had been in honor and dignity, was who Bilbo was choosing to be with.  Was who he was offering himself to. He did not deserve this hobbit, with more courage and heart than any in the long line of Durin or any in the whole of Middle Earth.  And yet he had him. Because he was who Bilbo chose, and Thorin would never again deny him his choice.

 

“Bilbo-” Thorin dropped his head down until their lips were pressed together.  Bilbo met the kiss openly and eagerly. Their tongues met, twined. Thorin suckled it, making Bilbo moan and grip Thorin’s shoulders.  The insistent throb of Thorin’s cock, which he had been ignoring, became overwhelming. Thorin could no longer deny the selfish want to be inside Bilbo.  To possess him, body and soul, completely. He wanted to be as close to Bilbo as two beings could get, wanted to spend himself in Bilbo’s body and wring that same pleasure from Bilbo at the same time.

 

Without any further thoughts of right and wrong, Thorin grabbed the vial of oil on the shelf beside the bed and unstoppered it.  Bilbo let out a shuddering breath. Thorin stilled for a moment, oil dripping from his frozen fingers.  _ “Yes,” _ Bilbo pleaded.  Thorin’s hand resumed its descent between his legs. 

 

Thorin teased the crevice there, circling his finger around the tense muscle until it began to relax, then pressing slowly inside.  Bilbo’s eyelids dropped to half mast, and his breathing quickened. He wanted to ask for more, but he wouldn’t take any chances of rushing this.  He let Thorin take his time, curl his finger softly until it hit that place within him that made his still half hard cock jump. Thorin waited almost longer than Bilbo could endure before adding a second one, and by the time he worked up to a third, Bilbo’s cock had returned to full attention.

 

“Please, Thorin,” Bilbo panted.  His thighs were shaking, sweat beading his brow.  He  _ wanted, _ fiercely, desperately.  “Please-”

 

“Just a little more,” Thorin promised him, curling his fingers as he thrust them.  Bilbo saw stars and felt slick drops of precome fall to his belly. He bit his lip nearly hard enough to draw blood.

 

“Please!”

 

Then Thorin was rising up, his fingers still curled within Bilbo but his other hand clumsily pouring oil onto himself and stroking to spread it.  The nearly empty bottle clattered to the floor and neither of them paid attention to it. Thorin shifted up, the heat of him making Bilbo squirm.

 

“Are you certain?” Thorin asked roughly, nearly trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

 

“Gods above  _ yes! _  Fuck me, Thorin.  Now!” Bilbo used his heels to lift his hips, impaling himself on Thorin’s fingers hard.  That was the last assurance Thorin needed. A smile that was part relief and part pure carnal delight curved his lips and he pressed against the now swollen spot inside Bilbo again, stroking it with his fingertips and catching Bilbo’s moan of pleasure with a kiss.  Then just as quickly he withdrew his hand and pressed the head of his cock to the waiting opening.

 

With barely a push, the tip of Thorin sank in, engulfed in the slick heat.  The pressure was just as incredible as Thorin’s hazy memories of the first time, but now he could see Bilbo’s face, could feel the evidence of his pleasure pressed against Thorin’s belly.  Another short thrust and Thorin slid nearly all the way inside, eased along by the oil and Bilbo’s rhythmically gripping muscles.

 

“Wait,” Bilbo whispered breathlessly.  Thorin flinched, ready to withdraw. “Don’t!”  Bilbo caught his shoulders and wrapped his legs around Thorin’s hips, halting the movement.  “I just need a moment - I still want-” he trailed off with a gasp, his cock throbbing between them as the slight sting of stretch eased into more pleasure.

 

Thorin was still big - certainly bigger than anyone Bilbo had ever been with, bigger than any hobbit was  _ capable  _ of being - but it wasn’t more than Bilbo could handle with some caution and patience.  Already the press of Thorin’s cock inside of him was becoming not quite enough, lacking the friction and force that would bring Bilbo release.  He felt stretched thin, over full, utterly possessed, and he wanted more.

 

“Now,” he breathed.  “I’m ready.” Thorin searched his face, checking the sincerity of his words, then groaned softly and complied.  He sank the last inch of his cock into Bilbo. They  _ both _ groaned at that.  Thorin’s hips pulled back, not far enough that he withdrew completely, but so that the head of his cock rubbed deliberately over Bilbo’s insides, then he thrust forward again.  Bilbo clenched and swore. He realized his eyes had closed and opened them again, wanting to see Thorin’s face for every moment of this. The dark blue gaze that met his was so full of adoration and desire that Bilbo thought he was going to come already.  He slipped his hand between them and grasped the base of his cock hard to keep it from happening.

 

Thorin looked from the hand back up to Bilbo’s face, obviously curious.  Bilbo blushed, but he was already so flush with arousal that he doubted Thorin could tell.  “Don’t want to come yet,” he explained.

 

“You can come again so soon?” Thorin asked, voice tight with intensity but filled with wonder.

 

“Hobbits are-” he cut off, jaw slackening with the sensation of another thrust rushing through him, “-easy to please.”

 

Thorin’s cock jerked inside of him, drawing another moan from Bilbo.  “Next time,” Thorin swore, thrusting again, and again, “I am going to pin your hands so you can’t stop yourself.  And I’m going to see how many orgasms I can fuck you through, and not stop until you beg.” Just the thought was driving them both wild, Bilbo’s hips straining up to meet each of Thorin’s drives into him.  “But this time, I can’t- can’t-” He pulled Bilbo’s hand away and laced their fingers together over Bilbo’s head. His pace increased until every second belonged to another ingress, every rapid beat of their pulses was another drag of Thorin’s body against Bilbo’s, the tide of pleasure within them both rising out of control and then crashing over them with an intensity that was almost frightening.

 

Bilbo tried to keep his eyes open through his release, but it was impossible.  He felt tears leaking from the corner of his eyes with how tightly they squeezed shut.  The moisture cooled his flushed skin, but he tucked his face into the crook of his elbow to keep Thorin from seeing it and making an incorrect assumption about it.  A quick wipe and the tears were wiped away along with the sweat that had beaded on his brow.

 

“Bilbo?”  Thorin’s voice was sharp with concern.  He freed one hand to tip Bilbo’s face back to him.  Bilbo didn’t have to force or fake the sated, slack smile that crossed his face.  Some of the panic left Thorin’s eyes. “Are you alright?”

 

Bilbo laughed, jostling them and making another wave of pleasure jolt through them.  “You could say that,” he said breathlessly when he had stopped moaning. “That was… that was incredible.  You’re- very good at that.”

 

Thorin grinned, his teeth flashing and a slight dimple tugging one cheek, then he buried his face against the crook of Bilbo’s shoulder with a groan and a laugh.  “It was all you,  _ bunnanunê _ .  You are so  _ responsive. _  It was more than I could bear.  Having you take such pleasure from my touch, seeing your body blossom for me…”  He pressed a kiss to the side of Bilbo’s neck, then let his teeth sink the barest bit into his skin.

 

“If you keep up much more of that, you’ll start something you can’t finish,” Bilbo warned.  Thorin growled a little, enticed beyond words by the very idea. Still, he knew that even with as intense as his desire for Bilbo was, he needed at least a few minutes before he could do anything more, so he eased back.

 

“Next time,” he promised, reminding Bilbo of his vow to make Bilbo come until he begged for reprieve.  

 

“Next time,” Bilbo agreed.  “But sleep first.” Thorin seemed to have the same idea, because he was already tucking Bilbo into his side and closing his eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

With that last piece fallen into place, life settled into a rhythm that they both enjoyed.  Thorin no longer went to see the stone at all. They went up for food together, and though Thorin couldn’t bear to be far from the mountain or out of it for long, it was enough for Bilbo to feel the sun on his skin and grass under his feet - not to mention adding a few mushrooms and berries to their otherwise all meat diet.  They continued exploring the mountain, and eventually found a safe passage to the library.

 

Bilbo was instantly enraptured by it.  The tomes it contained were enough to fill  _ lifetimes _ of reading, not to mention the translating he could do with them.  He could easily spend entire days exploring the dusty stacks, selecting the books he wanted to look at or simply marvelling at the wealth of knowledge the library contained.  Life was nearly perfect. Except…

 

Except Bilbo continued to lose weight, in spite of the increased variance in their diet and the ease of his lifestyle.  Thorin saw his belly slowly but surely shrink and then begin to concave. Despite this, he ate less, no matter how Thorin prompted.  He simply wasn’t hungry. His skin was starkly pale. Soon it began to split easily. Bilbo laughed off each cut and scrape, calling himself clumsy despite the fact that he barely had to fall to be left bleeding.  His hair, which had always been a thick, wavy brown, grew thin and brittle. Streaks of silver adorned his temples.

 

Most of it happened so gradually that Thorin didn’t notice it.  Bilbo always looked at him with such light and laughter in his eyes that it was hard to see how much his body was failing.  When he did finally see it, it seemed as though all the vitality had gone out of him. He was growing old long before his time.  Thorin knew that hobbits did not live as long as dwarves, but Bilbo was only in his middle fifties. He should have had twice that before age started to affect him so severely.

 

He tried to bring it up and Bilbo brushed his concerns aside.  He claimed that he felt fine. That there was nothing amiss, and Thorin shouldn’t worry.  That he was simply growing accustomed to a dwarvish sort of life and he would fill back out again soon enough.

 

Thorin waited, wanting desperately to believe the words were true.

 

***

 

“So dwarves pass into the halls of Mahal, to be with their forefathers, when they die?”  Bilbo had just finished reading a book aloud to Thorin that told of the creation of the dwarves.  He had already heard the story of how their god had actually moulded them first, before elves or men, and then put them to sleep for a while - Thorin had been very proud of reminding Bilbo of that on numerous occasions - but this book had talked more about the many gods and goddesses and their hallowed homes.

 

“Into one of the seven halls of the original seven dwarvish lords, of which Durin was the greatest.”

 

“But they are quite separate from where the fire of elves go, either to return to the earth or wait until the end of ages.”

 

“Quite,” Thorin agreed with a snort of derision.  “Mahal would not suffer an  _ elf _ in his halls, I’m sure.  Nor would any dwarf go willingly across the sea to where the elves rest.”  He scoffed at the very idea, then grew somber. “Are there no tales of where hobbits go after their deaths?”

 

Bilbo shook his head.  “Hobbits don’t much concern themselves with such things.  We are so much of the earth that I always assumed that we simply return to it.  But I suppose if the oldest tales are to be believed then hobbits were descended of men.  If that’s the case, then perhaps we go wherever they do, though no book or tale I’ve ever heard says where they go for certain.  Just that they are different from the first two peoples in that they pass beyond the veils of the world.”

 

Thorin swallowed past the lump that had formed in his throat, running his fingers through the streaks of silver in Bilbo’s hair.  “Beyond the veils of the world?” Bilbo shrugged, apparently unconcerned. Suddenly the idea of a dwarf crossing the sea to be with the elves did not seem so ridiculous.  Nor did the idea of an elf in Mahal’s halls. Surely sometimes, exceptions were made? There was oft little love between the various races of the world, but if there was… if there  _ was, _ then somehow those involved would be allowed to be reunited in death.  Right?

 

“Hobbits seem very little like men,” he finally added.  “You are so much more of the earth than they, not of the ground itself like dwarves, but of the grass and the trees and the sky.  You lack the evils of either race and have all the heart of both.” Bilbo laughed, thinking that no one had ever waxed so poetical of hobbits before.  “I don’t think you could have descended directly from men. Perhaps… perhaps you are children of Yavanna herself.”

 

“Mahal’s wife?”

 

Thorin nodded, liking the idea far more.  “It was she that brought life to the living creatures of the earth, to the plants and beasts.  Surely a people with such a connection to her works are of the goddess herself. And if you are Yavanna’s creation, then you would return to her own bosom after death.  To spend the time until the end of ages in her garden. That seems a fitting place for a hobbit.” Bilbo was already smiling.

 

“It does sound appealing,” he agreed.  “And conveniently dwarven afterlife adjacent.”

 

“Exactly,” Thorin said, sounding relieved.  “I can’t say if a dwarf has ever been allowed into Yavanna’s garden, but certainly a hobbit would be welcome to make the jaunt into the halls.  Especially one connected to a Durin.”

 

“Then I will make the trip every evening every day until the time comes that a familiar face welcomes me inside.”  Bilbo snuggled deeper into Thorin’s arms, warmed by the idea.

 

“It might- I might be the one waiting,” Thorin tried to point out.  “You’ve still got many decades ahead of you.” Bilbo said nothing, and after a moment, his breaths evened out into sleep.  His silence told Thorin everything he had been afraid of.

 

Bilbo was dying.

 

It wasn’t happening rapidly, but his life was draining away all the same, and Thorin could guess why.  Hobbits were not meant to live entombed in a mountain. They were not meant to live on whatever sustenance could be scavenged from the hillside.  They were not mean to live without sunshine and trees and wind. They were hearty beings, simple creatures of simple comforts, but still, Bilbo was wasting away.  He  _ knew _ that, and still chose to stay with Thorin.  He didn’t care how much he was shortening his life, how many years he was sacrificing.  He was giving them up freely so that he could stay with Thorin, tied to the mountain by the arkenstone.

 

For a moment, Thorin wondered if the stone knew that, somehow.  If it could tell that Bilbo would not survive a full lifetime in Erebor, and had decided to bide its time, to wait until Bilbo was gone and then it could consume Thorin body and soul.  A bolt of terror went through him. He did not want to live without Bilbo at his side. He did not want to become the beast that the stone twisted him into without Bilbo there to stop it.  And if it did, would there be anything left of him to return to the halls of his forefathers, or would Bilbo wait outside those doors forever for a soul that had been eaten away to dust?

 

With a certainty pounding in his veins that he could not allow that to happen, Thorin slipped quietly from the bed and made his way to the tunnel leading out of the mountain.  Outside, he took a moment to gather his courage and began to walk. He went into the woods rather than down towards Dale, not wanting to be seen by men. At first, his pace was quick and determined.  After a bit, it slowed. Not much further and it felt as though he was going through snowsand, his feet dragging along the ground with reluctance. Eventually he could make himself to go no further. His head was pounding and his chest ached.  He wanted nothing more than to turn around and go back. Instead, he sat down and forced himself not to move.

 

His eyes continued to stray back in the direction of the mountain.  His thoughts raced until they buzzed together into something barely intelligible.  He could only catch snatches of coherence, thoughts of goblins or orcs invading Erebor while he was gone, or elves sneaking in to steal treasure.  Of him not being able to find the tunnel again, being locked outside of his home forever, lost without his treasure or the arkenstone, with nothing, nothing,  _ nothing- _

 

He blinked hard and found himself walking back towards the mountain.  He didn’t remember rising or taking those first few steps. Each pace forward made the pain dissipate a little more, made his head stop spinning quite so much.  He was consumed with the need to be back. He needed to be in his kingdom once more, needed to feel its weight closing in around him, needed to know that the arkenstone was there, however buried it was beneath his feet.  He could not abandon it. He couldn’t.

 

It was only by the mightiest willpower that he didn’t go to the treasure room when he returned, nor seek out the stone.  Instead, he slipped back into bed with Bilbo. He looked down at the sleeping hobbit, at the gauntness of his face, the unhealing cuts on his skin, the increasing fragility of his body.  Bilbo needed to leave the mountain to survive, but he would not leave Thorin’s side. And Thorin could not live anywhere else.

 

The arkenstone was going to destroy them both.


	16. Chapter 16

Thorin hated himself.  He felt more beastly than he ever had under the dragonsickness’s deepest hold, and it was worse because his mind was clear enough to realize it.  He was killing the one he loved and was too weak to stop it. Bilbo refused to talk about it. He insisted he was fine until one day Thorin had begun counting his ribs, clearly visible beneath his pale skin.  Then, even once he acknowledged something was wrong, he would not hear of leaving alone. Once, he tried to ask, hesitantly, softly, as if his very life did not depend on it, if Thorin could leave Erebor. The way Thorin had turned away in shame was his answer and he had never asked again.  Instead, he spent his every waking hour at Thorin’s side. They read books together, talked for hours, sometimes just gazed at each other’s faces in silence. When Bilbo could no longer get himself up the tunnel leading out of the mountain, Thorin carried him out, laying him in the grass where the sun could dance on his face.  Sometimes, Thorin laid beside him, watching the beams of light try to bring a shine back to Bilbo’s hair.

 

When Bilbo’s skin grew too fragile for penetrative sex, they found themselves in reversed roles.  Thorin began taking Bilbo into his mouth while he pleasured himself with his hand. Even that became a less and less frequent occurrence as Bilbo’s energy dwindled.

 

Thorin watched, and hated himself, and hated the stone, and hated every moment that Bilbo slipped further and further away from him.

 

Then one day, they were returning from a trip to the water room, and Bilbo simply collapsed.  One moment he’d been teasing Thorin about the king’s fondness fancy soap and bubbles in his bath, leaning on Thorin for support as they walked, and the next he’d simply dropped, like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

 

Thorin’s heart pounded in his ears as he tried to rouse him, his panic becoming all consuming when it didn’t work, when Bilbo’s eyes wouldn’t open, when his breathing became nothing more than a faint whisper of air in his lungs.

 

Something snapped inside Thorin.  He knew what Bilbo needed. He’d known all along.  How had he let it come to this? How had he wasted away his lover’s life for- for what?  Gold? A jewel? It meant nothing,  _ nothing, _ without Bilbo.  Thorin’s hands did not shake as he scooped up the unconscious hobbit and turned towards the tunnel.  He was going to end this, and it was not going to be with Bilbo’s death. He was going to make this right.  He was going to-

 

His steps began to slow, the feeling of going through snowsand catching him so abruptly that he almost stumbled.  He pulled against it as though against physical restraints, but it felt like he could barely move. How was this possible?  He’d gone further than this by far in the past and never felt the pull of the stone. Was it simply because his intent was different?  That he knew if he left the mountain with Bilbo like this, he would never come back?

 

At the thought, his feet stopped entirely.  He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t abandon the stone.  It was not an option. Bilbo’s pulse fluttered beneath Thorin’s fingers, then slowed.  Ice skated along his veins as he stood, frozen. 

 

Carefully, Thorin laid Bilbo down.  He did not think about how small the halfling looked, limp and pale.  He did not think about the fact that this empty hall would be Bilbo’s final resting place if Thorin did not return.  He did not think about where he was going when he turned away, though his feet took him there unerringly. He did not think about the hammer that he picked up from the smith, not the weight of it in his hand, not the purpose of the spiked tip of it, made of the hardest metal dwarves were capable of forging.  He did not think of anything but going down to see the arkenstone, of letting his eyes feast on its radiance. He focused on the way the shine of it soothed him, the hum of it whispered to his soul, the warmth of it in his hands. His pace increased.

 

And suddenly he was in the deepest mine beneath the mountain, in the darkest corner of it, right at its very heart.  The chest beckoned him sweetly, the gleam of the arkenstone seeping out from its cracks. It called to him, enticing, bewitching.  Thorin lifted the lid. It dazzled him, clouding his mind. He picked it up, no longer having to force himself to think of only the stone.  It was  _ all _ he could think of.  He reached out, grasped it, let the heat of it slide along his skin with a sense of euphoria.  He focused on its beauty, on his need for it. Slowly, he set it down on the steel beam at his feet, reluctant to let it go.

 

It shone up at him, lit by some inner fire, casting dancing beams on the otherwise dark walls.  It was the most beautiful thing Thorin had ever seen. He craved it every moment, thought about it night and day.  He hefted the hammer onto his shoulder, watching it glint and burn. He focused on the flame within it, let the heat build a twin flame in himself.  He raised the hammer. He thought of how much he hated himself, of what his obsession with the stone had done to Bilbo. He thought of how much he despised it, despised how it had wrought the end of the line of Durin, spelled nothing but death and madness for his father and his father’s father.  He let that hatred consume him and brought the hammer down.

 

He braced for the bone jarring impact, but it never came.  His eyes opened and saw that the immense hammer had stopped a hair’s breadth from the stone.  He could lower the hammer no further. He could not force himself to drop it to the arkenstone.  His limbs were burning, his head filled with a thousand screams, his vision clouding over until he could do nothing but cry out and pray for it to end.  When he lifted the hammer away, it lessened. It returned to his shoulder, and while the bite remained as punishment, the screaming had stopped. He took a shuddering breath.

 

The stone blazed.  It sang to him. What was one small life compared to this radiance?  What was one simple halfling compared to the heart of the mountain, the king’s jewel, the inheritance of Durin?  The singing grew louder and louder, forcing Thorin to accept it. Forcing him to see how insignificant Bilbo was.

 

Bilbo, up above him somewhere, dying.  Bilbo, who was life and light and everything good, slipping away forever.  Bilbo, who would rather give up half his time on earth to be with Thorin for a short while.  Thorin’s heart beat slowed in his chest, going from the frantic rhythm that matched the arkenstone’s stuccatto song to a sluggish pound.  Bilbo’s rhythm. It slowed further, barely beating. Then it skipped. Thorin’s chest constricted in fiery pain. The song was screaming in his ears.  His heart beat once, then stopped again. It did not resume. Agony raced through Thorin’s body and he roared with it, drowning out the song.

 

The hammer swung down.

 

Light exploded.

 

Then all was silent.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters posted today! Make sure you're reading the right one ; )

Bilbo opened his eyes slowly, wincing as bright sunlight hit them.  He wondered if he’d fallen asleep after Hamfast had come to visit - but no, he wasn’t in the Shire any longer.  No, he must have dozed off out on the mountainside while Thorin hunted boar. He smiled at how the light warmed his face and hoped that they could stay outside for a while longer.  He could look for more mushrooms when he fully woke, if he felt up for a short walk.

 

He took a quick check of his body, hoping he might have just enough strength for a walk, then frowned.  He didn’t feel well enough for just a short walk. He felt much better than that. He felt… he felt better than he had in ages.  Well enough to collect mushrooms and get himself down the tunnel and maybe even a few friskier things, if Thorin was up for it.

 

Excited, Bilbo opened his eyes completely, expecting to see Thorin coming towards him across the mountainside.

 

It was not clear blue eyes that met his, but soft grey ones.

 

“Gandalf!”  Bilbo sat up, surprise and elation on his face.  For a moment he wondered why the wizard had returned to the mountain, but then he realized he was not  _ on _ the mountain.  He was in a bedroom.  A familiar bedroom. “What are you- are we in Rivendell?”

 

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said with a smile.  “My dear Bilbo. It is so good to see you awake.  We are indeed guests of Elrond - in the very room you inhabited your first time here, I believe.  How do you feel?”

 

“Rather well, actually.  Better than I have in a long while.  But- why are we-” he stopped, dread making him go cold.  Had he somehow imagined his time with Thorin? Had be hit his head in some mishap or other and dreamed the whole thing?  Was Thorin still dead under the mountain’s rubble, and all the time they’d spent together, everything they’d done, a fantasy in Bilbo’s mind?

 

“Peace, Bilbo.  I can see that you are troubled.  Tell me the last thing you remember, and I will see if I can fill in the gaps for you.”

 

“I remember… being in Erebor, with Thorin.  We had gone for a wash, I think. There was something about… soap…”

 

“You have no recollection of anything after that?”

 

“No- Gandalf, tell me quickly!  What’s happened?”

 

“You, my dear Bilbo,  _ died.” _  Gandalf sat forward and studied him, as though trying to piece together a puzzle.

 

“I… died?”  Bilbo put a hand to his chest and felt his heart beating within it, evidence that he was very much alive.

 

“Indeed.  And though I have my suspicions, I can’t say that I am certain quite how you came back.”

 

“Did the elves…?”  Bilbo stopped when Gandalf shook his head.  “What about-” he stopped again, not sure if he could ask the question he needed to, not sure he could bear the answer if it was the worst.  “...Thorin?”

 

Gandalf harrumphed, his opinion of the dwarf plain.  “He may have had something to do with it, and if so, only too rightly, as he was the cause of your death to begin with.”

 

“What do you mean?  Thorin didn’t hurt me.”

 

“He did not?”  Gandalf looked pointedly just above Bilbo’s right eye.  Bilbo quickly covered the scar there. “Perhaps he did not strike a fatal blow, but he kept you prisoner in a cursed mountain until your life dwindled away to nothing!”

 

“He didn’t keep me prisoner!  He- he might have thought so, at first, but he  _ changed, _ Gandalf.  He was away from the stone.  We were… happy. It was worth whatever the cost.”

 

“Your life is far more valuable than a fanatical obsession with a cursed stone, Bilbo Baggins.”

 

“It was my choice to make.”

 

“And  _ his _ as well.  Every day, he chose the arkenstone over your life.  Every day until it claimed you.”

 

Bilbo shut his eyes against that, knowing it was not so simple.  “Yet here I am. Alive. Was- did-” he fisted his hands and finally just blurted out the question.  “Where is Thorin?” Every second that passed made him terrified of the possibilities.

 

“After everything, after all that has happened, do you truly still care?”

 

“Of course I do!  Gandalf, tell me  _ now! _  What happened to Thorin?”

 

Gandalf opened his mouth, but a sound from the hall cut him off.  “I am not leaving this room again, wizard, I don’t care what you threaten me with-”

 

Thorin stopped dead at the sight of Bilbo sitting up in the bed.  The tray he’d been carrying in crashed to the floor. He stared for half a moment, transfixed, then dashed across the room and was cradling Bilbo in his arms.  His chest shuddered, his hands trembled as they ran over Bilbo’s frame again and again. When he pulled back, his eyes were wet and he let the tears fall unabashedly down his face.

 

“Bilbo.  Bilbo. My Bilbo.  _ Bunnanunê _ .”  He pressed their foreheads together, smiling and weeping and shaking all at once.   _ “Bilbo.” _

 

“Thorin- are you alright?  How did we end up here? Gandalf said that I… that I died.”

 

Thorin drew in an sharp breath at the word, then nodded.  “You did.  _ Mahal _ help me, you did.  I felt your heart stop.”  He’d felt his own stop as well, but didn’t say so.  He didn’t need Bilbo worrying unduly over him when he should be focusing on his own recovery.

 

“What happened?”

 

“You just collapsed.  We were walking back and-”

 

“No, I understand that part.  I had been… well I had expected it for some time.  But how did I - how did we-”

 

“Luck would have it that your meddlesome wizard was in Dale when I brought you there.  I met him when I carried you there after your heart started again. The eagles brought us from Dale to Rivendell, where you’ve been recovering.”

 

Bilbo took a moment to try and absorb all of that.  He wasn’t surprised Gandalf had been in Dale. He expected that the wizard had likely partaken of Bard’s hospitality many times since Bilbo had entered Erebor.  And the help of the eagles was a turn of fortune indeed, but not wholly unexpected. After all, they had helped Bilbo before. He was even beginning to think that they were somewhat fond of him, in the regal, disconnected way of theirs.

 

No, none of that really shocked him.  The part that defied explanation was that Thorin was here with him, that he’d left the mountain.  Hope sprang inside of him. “And the arkenstone?”

 

“Gone,” Thorin said flatly.  “I destroyed it.”

 

“You- you  _ destroyed _ it?”  Bilbo blinked in disbelief.  “H-how?”

 

Thorin sighed, sitting back slightly and lacing their fingers tightly together.  “I realized what I should have long ago. What it took your loss to finally see. That there was no power that could be held over me, no spell cast upon me, no sickness twisting me, more powerful than my love for you.  I’d been crippled with the indecision; you or the arkenstone. But losing you… it made everything clear. It was no choice at all. You, Bilbo, are the only thing that truly matters.”

 

“Thorin-”  Bilbo’s throat felt almost too thick for words to pass.  He  _ knew _ the spell the arkenstone had Thorin under.  He had never begrudged him his sickness. That Thorin had somehow found the strength not only to choose Bilbo’s life as more important, but to  _ destroy _ the stone in doing so…  It was something he’d never thought could be possible.  “I think that’s the first time you’ve said you loved me,” he said nonsensically, a slow smile spreading across his face.  Thorin laughed.

 

_ “Mahal, _ I’ve been such a fool.  I should have been telling you every day, every moment.  I should have been shouting it to the world and whispering it in your ear.  You deserve that, Bilbo. That and so much more. I love you. I love you more than gold, more than a kingdom, more than my own life.  You are the heart of me, Bilbo Baggins.”

 

Bilbo took in a shaking breath as the words washed over him.  His eyes stung with unshed tears, and he was certain that Thorin could see them shining there.  “You are not supposed to be so poetic,” he groused softly, his pretend indignation ruined by his smile.  “Now it seems entirely too plain when all I can say back is that I love you too.”

 

‘It’s all I need to hear,” Thorin assured him.

 

“Then I love you too.  I’m so-”

 

A slight cough from the side of the bed halted Bilbo’s words and he turned to Gandalf, a little abashed at having basically forgotten his presence.

 

“Before this gets too out of hand, perhaps I should remind Thorin that you are still supposed to be resting and recovering.   The healers say you’ll need at least another week here before you could do any kind of travelling, though they do agree that you’ll recover best in the Shire.  I believe that we can count on one more favor from the eagles to get you home, though likely not another after that. Their generosity does have its limits, even to those they like.  And if you’re certain that you’ll be bringing company along…?”

 

Bilbo looked from Gandalf, back to Thorin.  For all that he’d seen Thorin in Bag End once before, he couldn’t picture it as a home for the dwarf.  He’d spent so long waiting for his kingdom, had worked so hard for it, that Bilbo could not imagine him giving it up for the Shire.  “Thorin?” he asked softly, hardly daring to hope. “Would you  _ want _ to return there with me?”

 

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth,  _ bunnanunê _ .  Even with the arkenstone gone, I will never step foot in Erebor again.  The gold there… it is too much of a risk. I could return to the Iron Hills, seek out those of my kin remaining there, but - but if you’ll allow me, I want to stay by your side.  I want to never be parted from you again. If that means living in your Shire, then it will be a small piece of Yavanna’s garden come into this world for me.”

 

“Of course,” Bilbo laughed.  “It might not be quite fitting for a goddess, but you are welcome in any home of mine.  Though to be quite honest, I’m not certain I still have one. How long was I-”

 

“It’s been nearly two years since you left,” Gandalf informed him, “but I’ve sent along a letter to your cousin and her husband telling them of your imminent return.  They were none too eager to inhabit Bag End, though I believe they would have just to fulfil your wishes that the Sackville-Bagginses did not get it. As it is, you’ll not be returning to an auction, this time, but to a warm welcome.  I believe Hamfast has even been keeping the garden for you still.”

 

“I owe them all a great debt indeed,” Bilbo said with a laugh.  He turned back to Thorin, his face once again serious. “I’m going to have to enlarge all the doors, if I’m to have a dwarf permanently about.”

 

“I believe you have someone reasonably good at crafting at your disposal.”

 

“We will be well and properly disrespectable, you know.  Adventuring and outsiders aren’t looked kindly upon in the Shire.”

 

“As long as I have you at my side, I don’t give a damn about being respectable.”

 

“And we’re going to need a much bigger bed.”

 

Thorin grinned.  “I think we will just have to try it and see.”  Gandalf clucked longsufferingly and excused himself from the room as Thorin leaned in to kiss Bilbo.  It was a wise decision, as almost all of Gandalf’s were, because the kiss didn’t end for a long time to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a short epilogue left to be added tomorrow ❤


	18. Chapter 18

***

_ After _

***

 

It turned out that, though the eagles did indeed have a certain fondness for Bilbo, they held no such affection for Thorin.  If there had been any doubt, the way they dropped him unceremoniously just outside the Shire would have been proof enough.

 

Bilbo might have expected Thorin to protest the treatment or even curse the birds for their ill handling, but Thorin did no such thing.  He was nothing but grateful when Bilbo was deposited gently beside him, the pack Elrond had sent them off with still securely on his back.

 

It seemed that there was one thing that could almost instantly cool the usually hot temper of the dwarven king, one thing that provoked him to courtesy when he would have otherwise spoken with disdain, and that was aiding Bilbo.  Those around them that treated the hobbit well or looked after his health were given nearly instant deference.

 

It had become an ill kept secret, in Rivendell, that if the hot tempered dwarf grew too ferocious, one only had to compliment his halfling, or offer some small token for his comfort and happiness to make the blue eyed devil subside.  If the elves weren’t above such pettiness, they might have used it to their advantage, but fortunately, they were more gracious than that. Still, Bilbo returned to the Shire with many trinkets indeed that were half as much for the sake of relieving Thorin’s sour words as for affection of the hobbit.

 

The eagles, it seemed, were no exception to this rule.  They were thanked formally and sincerely by Thorin. Though they ignored his bow, the genuine gratitude seemed to unruffle a few feathers, at least.

 

It wasn’t until they were walking hand in hand down the achingly familiar lanes towards Bag End that Thorin’s surliness seemed to return.

 

“Did no one teach these reprobates that gawking is  _ rude?” _ he demanded, tightening his hold on Bilbo’s hand.

 

“Oh, I’m certain they ignored the lesson,” Bilbo said with a small laugh.  “You must remember that nothing much changes here, and that is the way people like it.  I’ve now gone off adventuring not just once but  _ twice, _ and I’ve brought a stranger back with me to boot!  I warned you we would be disrespectable.”

 

“Is it… am I going to cause you to be an outcast among your own people, Bilbo?”

 

They had just reached the gate at the foot of Bag End, and Bilbo pulled them to a stop.  “Thorin, no. I was seen as a little odd even before I left the first time, and I’ve done nothing to dissuade my neighbors of the notion.  Those that I truly care about are indulgent of my eccentricities, and the rest can go rot for all I care.”

 

“But- these are your people.”

 

_ “You _ are my people, Thorin.  I’ve been blessed with plenty of family in name, but I’ve found that those who matter most are family in  _ deed. _  And you have become that.  You are…  _ Ghashvadel _ to me, too.  I chose you over all of this twice before, and I will continue choosing you.  Getting to have you  _ here, _ is - well it is more of a blessing than one insignificant hobbit could possibly deserve.”

 

Thorin tipped Bilbo’s face up, cupping it in his hands like the treasure it was.  “You are not insignificant. Already, you have changed the course of history in Middle Earth.  You have altered the fate of kings.” He smiled a little. “If people were measured by heart instead of height, you would be the greatest of any.”  He dropped his forehead down to Bilbo’s and felt the heat of Bilbo’s blush on his face.

 

“You have quite the way with words, do you know that?”

 

Thorin laughed.  “Only for you. If any dwarf heard you say that, they would think you’d gone mad.”  They turned up the short walk and Bilbo opened the door to Bag End, ushering them both in.

 

“They can, you know.  I told the other members of the company that they are always welcome here, and the same applies to any you wish among your folk.  Or we could journey to see them, when the weather is cooperative.”

 

“I think that I am done journeying for some time, but I will take your offer to heart.  I think… I think it is time I wrote to my sister.” He looked away when he said it, and Bilbo knew what those words meant to him.  He could not imagine the turmoil Thorin must feel at the thought of facing his sister again after Kili and Fili’s deaths. He wanted to say something, but there were no words that seemed right.  He was spared making any reply at all when Thorin knocked against the frame of the doorway between the hall and sitting room. “You were not jesting about enlarging the doors. These seeme even smaller than I remember.”

 

“You might actually be an inch or two taller than you were back then,” Bilbo answered with a smile.  Thorin’s feet shuffled.

 

“It would have been easier to blend in here if I’d been a shorter dwarf before, nevermind after the dragonsickness.”

 

“I have no qualms whatsoever with your size,” Bilbo admitted.  “Not that I would have minded you any other size for that matter, but this particular size is very… nice.  For… things.” He pressed his lips together before he could make any more embarrassing admissions. Thorin looked at him surprised, then smirked.

 

“I thought, perhaps, that you disliked being towered over and tossed about.”  He spoke slow and sweet, advancing toward Bilbo a single step at a time. Bilbo’s breath came faster.

 

“I do, as a general rule.  I’m no child, and I don’t care for being treated like one.  But you-” He stopped as Thorin reached him, looking up and thrilling at the way the breadth of Thorin’s shoulders blotted out the doorway.

 

“No, I certainly do not see you as a child.”

 

“P-precisely.”  Bilbo was losing his composure as Thorin stroked his hand through Bilbo’s hair, seeming to take some sort of satisfaction at the way the shiny curls slid through his fingers.  “And so, when it’s  _ you…” _

 

“Then you do not mind being carried… held… pinned down…”

 

Bilbo swallowed hard.  “Exactly,” he said on a breath.

 

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it, little one?”

 

“Too long,” Bilbo agreed, unabashedly pressing his cheek into Thorin’s stroking hand.  “Far too long.”

 

“Do you feel up for-”

 

“Yes,” Bilbo agreed readily, not bothering to hide his eagerness.  Thorin studied him carefully.

 

“Are you certain?  We needn’t rush. If you are not fully healed-”

 

“I am,” Bilbo insisted.  “A month of elvish ministrations is enough to leave even the most deathly ill hearty and hale.”

 

“It was a long journey-”

 

“I am not tired.”

 

“You missed both second breakfast and elevensies-”

 

“Food is not what I am hungry for.”

 

“Perhaps tea-”

 

“Take me to my bed right this instant, Thorin Oakenshield.  Tea and food and pipes and the entire world can all wait a while.  What I need most now is  _ you.” _

 

Thorin saw the sincerity in his face, and any resistance he might have had crumbled.  He lowered his mouth to Bilbo’s and tasted him in a consuming kiss. His intent was to be gentle, to take his time, but Bilbo moaned into his mouth and suddenly Thorin found himself rising up, pulling Bilbo up with him.  Automatically, Bilbo’s legs went around his waist, and this time Thorin was the one who moaned at the press of their burgeoning erections. One hand curled around the back of Bilbo’s neck, fingers delving into the once again thick hair there.

 

_ This _ was what he needed.  More than a home, more than sexual satisfaction, more than anything else, this.  Bilbo, safe and healthy in his arms. It would take some time yet before he returned to what Bilbo called a ‘proper hobbit weight,’ but Thorin would take him any way he could, as long as it was healthy.  Suddenly he itched to run his hands over Bilbo’s skin. To see for himself,  _ feel _ for himself, the whole and unmarked flesh, the once atrophied muscles regaining their vigour, the flush of color rising with his arousal.

 

He took two wrong turns to Bilbo’s bedroom, but neither of them cared.  By the time they reached the bed, they were both naked and Thorin had only to lay Bilbo out on it to feast his eyes on every inch of him.  Bilbo’s arousal increased beneath the adoring gaze, but he wanted more than just eyes on him. Showing off the strength he’d regained, he tugged Thorin down onto the bed with him.

 

“Show me that this is real,” he whispered in Thorin’s ear.  “Show me that we’re really here, that I’m really yours and you’re really mine.”

 

Thorin ran his hands down Bilbo’s flanks, up the inside of his thighs, to every part of him that he could reach.  “I will show you the truth of that now, and again every moment you wish it,  _ bunnanunê.” _

 

He set about doing just that, murmuring words of love against Bilbo’s skin to mingle with the sounds of soft moans.  Later, there would be time for having tea in front of the fire. They would smoke their pipes and plan their lives together.  There would be trials, Thorin was certain, as he adjusted to life in the Shire, as Bilbo adjusted to having a surly dwarf for his companion in this little house.  There would be laughter, too, games to be played together, adventures to be had, tears of joy and sorrow too.

 

But that was later.  Their future was together, whatever it held, and that was enough for Thorin.  That was the happy ending he’d never thought he would have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is folks! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I have ❤ ❤ ❤


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